The Magic School Bus Awakens
by silentgundam
Summary: Expected to excessively long, this is the whole story. This is the journey of a story that begins in learning, friendships, wonder, and magic but ends in application, betrayal, terrifying truths, and cold hard science. This is the story of how a teacher and her students took a radical plunge, of how they uncovered something equally greater and more terrible than themselves.
1. Prologue

_**Sunday, May 18, 2003**_

The desert sun scorched the barren earth beneath it, drying the world and depriving it of all comfort as the afternoon trickled by in a haze. Little happened here but for the skittering of desert animals at night and the rare rainstorm. Only the sun and the cracked dirt existed here, only the wind and the rattling of parched remains made any sound. Silence reigned only second to the intensity of the heat and sunshine.

But for all the usual quiet that filled this world, this patch of desert's routine shifted as the sun neared the three-quarter's mark. Not an abrupt change or one that could immediately be detected, it began with a soft thumping in the distance, so soft that it hardly stirred even the lightest of sleeping critters in their burrows. But the creatures grew used to the strange noise long before the hissing gasps accompanying it could be heard. Not even the rabbits lifted their heads when two sets of feet finally thundered above, their owners panting with the exertion of their sprint through the emptiness.

Dorothy Ann Robinson and Carlos Ramon ran as fast as their legs could carry them, neither looking anywhere but directly ahead. Without pausing, Dorothy Ann leaped over a small cactus instead of swerving to avoid it.

Far in the distance, the distinct rumble of an engine could just barely be heard.

Her chest ached from the furious pounding of her heart, her lungs burned enough to burst, her legs screamed as though her muscles were tearing apart, but still Dorothy Ann ran. A half-step ahead of Carlos, she ran with all she had. She ran with her life and his hanging on the dim hope that there was safety somewhere in the Arizona desert.

The engine was still soft in her ears, but Dorothy Ann knew that it had already drawn closer.

Only the past several days of being on constant alert gave Dorothy Ann's eyes the sharpness needed to spot the cliff in time. She skidded to a stop just inches from the ledge, holding out her arm to keep Carlos from toppling over it as he, too, came to a sudden halt. Their ragged gasping filled the silence around them as they stared out over the edge, easily a drop of 200 feet or more.

Dorothy Ann swung her head left and right. There wasn't a way down. It was as though the world was sliced away with a knife. Frustration swelled in her as she turned her attention to Carlos. He looked just as terrible as she felt; his skin was flushed and literally dripping with sweat beneath his filthy, ripped clothes. His deep brown eyes came to meet hers, harshly-etched bags hanging underneath and lids hooded in his exhaustion.

"Which..." Dorothy Ann gasped, panting heavily. "Which way should...should we go now?"

Carlos swallowed, cringing as he did so. He had to be just as parched as she was, throat just as dry.

"We..." He licked his lips. "We still have...I know you...don't wanna...but...but we still have the-"

"We...are... _not_...using it!" Dorothy Ann hissed. "How could...how can you...you even think...of trusting her? After...after what she did? What's she's...done?"

"Dorothy Ann..."

"No."

"But-"

"She...LIED TO US!" Dorothy Ann's throat burned in protest as she screamed. The fury bubbled deep within her, erupting unexpectedly. "She... _lied_ to us for TEN...YEARS! We can't trust...a _damn thing..._ she's told us! She _used_ us! All we've been are...are PAWNS!"

Carlos just nodded, still gasping for air, obviously too tired to argue.

The engine was definitely louder now. Dorothy Ann glanced behind them. A dust cloud was growing on the horizon of the desert, waving in the heat, as a dark speck drew closer. They were likely minutes away from being spotted.

"We have...to go," Dorothy Ann sighed. Between the running and the heat and her sudden wave of rage, nothing sounded more horrible than to push back into motion. But they had no choice. She turned to run left, knowing Carlos would follow.

He didn't. Dorothy Ann didn't take even one step before a hot and sweaty hand gripped hers, pulling her back as their fingers locked together.

"They're...going to see us in a minute anyway," Carlos said, voice soft against the rising engine. "We can't outrun them. Not...not on foot. Not like this. We...we can either keep...running and get caught, or we can...take...a chance. I think any chance to...get away and save the others is...is a chance worth taking. Don't you?"

Dorothy Ann's chest ached then, although this time it came not from their marathon but from deep emotion; deep emotion that tore through her heart, emotion for what had to be done, what she had been willing to sacrifice in her anger. Tears sprang to her eyes despite her dehydration. Dorothy Ann glared at the dusty earth below. Not for the first time that week, hopelessness threatened to swallow her up.

Carlos' free hand came up and bumped her chin, guiding Dorothy Ann to look at him. They were both breathing unevenly and through their mouths, hair plastered to their faces and bodies yearning for rest. Through the tears clouding her vision, Dorothy Ann could see the determination on Carlos' face. His eyes were searching hers, asking a silent question that only she could hear.

"Together?" she asked softly, voice nearly drowned by the approaching engine's roar.

Carlos leaned forward then, and he pressed his forehead to hers.

"Of course."

Dorothy Ann dropped her eyes to their intertwined fingers. Nothing seemed very real anymore.

Carlos reached into his pocket, and Dorothy Ann's eyes followed. From within the torn fabric of his pants, Carlos produced a tiny device no larger than an ordinary chicken's egg. It was sleek and gray with a pop latch that he easily opened with the pad of this thumb. Hidden behind the minuscule flap were two buttons, one large and yellow, the other small and black.

Dorothy Ann felt Carlos' fingers leave hers to reach up and grip her shoulder. She looked away from the device between them to find Carlos' eyes again. He was already looking back at her. She saw his lips move, but the vehicle had nearly reached them and Carlos' words were lost to it's impossibly loud engine. Dorothy Ann knew, however, and she nodded once before closing her eyes against the inevitable.

Without needing to see, she knew he had slammed his thumb on the yellow button in his hand. For exactly three frantic heartbeats, nothing happened. The world was frozen. Then Dorothy Ann felt Carlos' arms wrap around her, drawing her into his chest as he threw them both over the edge of the cliff.


	2. The Magic School Bus' First Experiment

_**Monday, August 31, 1992**_

The time was 6:59 in the morning, and Walkerville Elementary School, the pride and joy of the encasing middle class suburbia, was busy. Cars filled every space available from the parking lot to the drop off line to the street, and people packed the sidewalks like sardines in their cans, every single one of them waiting. Some waited with drooping eyelids and body-shaking yawns; some waited on bouncing feet with twitching fingers; some waited loudly while they shouted their excitement to others; some waited quietly as they read a book or twiddled their thumbs. But they all waited together, in each their own way, for the clock to strike 7:00.

It was the first day of school.

The bell finally rang, and the new year at Walkerville Elementary had officially begun. The doors were unlocked by the kind Scottish custodian with the thick mustache, and men, women, and their children began pouring into the building in orderly waves.

The school was prepared, however. At the far end of the large entry area stood five tables, each covered with boxes of neatly organized files for every student and marked with large bold letters for the people to see. The crowds gathered into lines and again...they waited.

A father and his boys, one standing and one in his wheelchair, waited with laughter; a blonde girl with pigtails stood quietly beside her mother, who held and shushed a younger girl; a woman tapped her foot impatiently while her son nervously adjusted his baseball cap; a bespeckled family with matching red heads yawned together; a raven-haired girl eyed the other kids around her while her mother pulled out a notepad; a boy buried his nose deeper into his sketchbook at his father's side; a thinning older woman held her granddaughter's hand tightly; an exhausted mother held firmly to two overexcited toddlers, her daughter standing anxiously at her back. The families stood within feet of one another, not one of them truly knowing what the day held.

In time, the lines dwindled as families received their folders, children were sent to wait with others in their grade, and parents could finally head to work. The Kindergartners were held in the computer lab, where a movie was being played. Reminiscing of their own time watching movies, the first graders waited for the 8:00 bell in the music room with all the cabinets locked tight. Their only form of entertainment was themselves.

"What're you reading?" one little girl asked another on the edge of the group.

The blonde lowered her book and smiled. "It's called, 'Stars Alight!' and it's all about stars."

"Like the ones in the sky at night?"

The blonde nodded, about to respond, when a boy in a red ball cap bumped into her. The book tumbled to the floor.

"Hey!"

The boy gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

"You knocked my book down!"

"I said I was sorry."

The first little girl shook her head in disgust, her bushy brown hair flopping around in its ponytail. "You don't sound sorry at all!"

The boy puffed out his chest, ready to snap back, but was interrupted by a series of claps. The sequence was simple, cut through the growing chatter of students, and it was deeply ingrained in every public school child to repeat. The room erupted into an echoed version of the claps ten times in volume.

Quiet followed.

"Attention, first grade!" a teacher called. She stood in the music room doorway with a clipboard in her hands. "It's almost 8 o'clock, and it's time to meet you new teacher! When you hear your name called, please come up and form a line just outside the door in the hall. First is my class, Mrs. Drammal's class! Come forward when you hear your name, please!"

And so it began. One by one, each of the children waiting in the music room had their name called. One by one, each of the children left the room, leaving the group smaller and smaller. Mrs. Drammal collected her students, then Mr. Potter's students were called, then Mrs. Cranston's. The kids trailed away twenty at a time until finally, only eight remained.

Mrs. Cranston led her class away. The doorway stood empty for several seconds, making the few children remaining nervous. Surely there wasn't a class of only eight kids? And where was their teacher? Had the school forgotten about them? None of them spoke. Voicing it would make it real.

"Don't worry, class. You haven't been forgotten."

All eight kids jumped. Who had said that?

"Quite to the contrary, you have been _selected_."

The kids looked around the room, wildly searching for the disembodied voice.

One of the locked cabinets began to rattle. It rattled and shook, and the contents began to bang around inside. The children took a few hasty steps away from the chaos mere seconds before the door exploded open. Sheet music flew outward in all directions, drifting on the air as they fell slowly to the ground around a pair of bright red heels.

The heels were filled with feet that were attached to legs that went under a matching red dress covered in images of funny-shaped glass jars and objects. Poking out the top of the odd dress was a woman's kind face, smiling under a head of unruly frizzy red hair that was poorly contained in a ponytail.

All the children regarded the woman with open mouths.

"Good morning, class!" the woman exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "I am Ms. Frizzle, your new teacher!"

"Uh, Ms. Frizzle?" A dark-haired girl with sharp eyes half-raised her hand. "What were you doing in the music cabinet?"

But Ms. Frizzle only giggled in reply. "Now class, I suspect you've noticed that there are only eight of you."

The class nodded.

"And what a wonderful number eight is! Though it may seem small now, you'll come to love the number just as much as I do."

"But Ms. Frizzle," the girl asked again. "Why are there only eight of us?"

"My, what an excellent question! You see, my class is a teensy bit different than others. We will be tackling the unknown in a hands-on manner of which you won't believe! We will answer any and all questions about the world and the way it works! We will take chances, make mistakes, and get messy!"

The children were all smiling, immediately taken in by their new teacher's enthusiasm. As she had been talking, Ms. Frizzle's new class had all subconsciously taken a few steps closer.

"But before we can dive into learning, I'd like us all to get to know one another." Ms. Frizzle placed her hands on her chest and smiled. "My name is Valerie Felicity Frizzle, or Ms. Frizzle for short, and I live with my good friend, Liz, whom you will all meet in a little while. I love going on adventures, exploring the unknown, and chocolate!

"Now, who would like to go next?"

A short silence followed before the girl with dark hair shrugged and raised her hand. Mrs. Frizzle pointed at her with a wink.

"Take it away!"

"My name is Wanda Li, and I'm six years old. I live with my mom and dad. Mom's a writer for a magazine and Dad drives a big truck around the country. Uh...I like playing outside and going on adventures, too!"

"Right on, Wanda!" Ms. Frizzle cheered. "Who's next?"

"I will," said the blonde girl with pig tails, slowly raising her hand. "I'm Dorothy Ann Robinson. My mom stays home with me and my little sister, but my dad works at the mall. I...I like to read."

"A-plus, Dorothy Ann!" Ms. Frizzle gave her a thumbs up before looking expectantly around the room again.

The brunette Dorothy Ann met in the music room stepped forward. "I'm Keesha Franklin. My grandma and I live on top of a dance store."

"A dance store? That's so cool!" the fourth little girl in the room exclaimed. When all eyes turned to her, she blushed.

Keesha grinned. "Yeah, my mom opened it a long time ago and now my grandma runs it! I take dance lessons at the studio across the street."

"Ah, dancing," Ms. Frizzle sighed. "Just like dreaming with your feet, hm, Keesha? Who will be next?"

"Me," one of the boys said. "I'm Ralph Tennelli, but everyone calls me Ralphie. Uh, it's just me and my dad and mom. Mom's a doctor, so she works a bunch, but Dad stays home with me. We play baseball, soccer, football...I like all sports, really."

"Home run, Ralphie! Who else?"

"My name is Carlos Ramon, I'm six years old, I have a little brother named Mikey who's starting Kindergarten today, and I like creating things, like inventing stuff." The boy puffed his chest out proudly.

"Truly inspired, Carlos!"

A silence fell over the group as the remaining three children stared at their feet. Knowingly, Ms. Frizzle nudged Wanda, who stood beside her, and gestured to the redheaded boy on her other side. Wanda nodded.

"This is Arnold Perlsteen-"

"Perlstein," Arnold hissed from behind his blush.

"Perlstein," Wanda corrected. "I met him before the bell. He was talking about this really cool rock collection he has at home and...uh..." She whispered to Arnold, "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Arnold shook his head, face reddening.

"And he's an only child," Wanda concluded to the group.

"Brilliant, Arnold!"

"I'm Tim Johnson," muttered the last boy, eyes still firmly aimed at the ground. "I don't have any brothers or sisters, either. I like to draw and make movies on my video camera."

"Beauty from within, Tim!"

All eyes turned toward the final girl then, and her steadying breath was visible as her chest filled and deflated. Ms. Frizzle's smile softened.

"And last but most certainly not least, we have...?"

"Molly," the girl said, voice high. "Molly Daniels. I'm six, I have twin baby brothers, and I like to dance, too, like Keesha. But I don't take lessons. Uhm, I like to work on computers and engines with my dad."

"Well how 'tera'bly wonderful, Molly!"

The class smiled up at their new teacher. Each pair of eyes was wide with wonder and varying degrees of anxiety as they waited for Ms. Frizzle to lead them into the next chapter of their lives. They couldn't have known then just how spectacular those next several chapters were going to be.

"Alright, class! Follow me to the classroom!" Ms. Frizzle sang, clapping her hands together as she made for the door. "Singe file, please."

* * *

"Welcome, welcome, welcome, class," Ms. Frizzle exclaimed, "to your new classroom."

Ms. Frizzle held her hands up and spun slowly, gesturing to the room as a whole for the eight students that were filing through the door.

It wasn't very different from a regular classroom: beige walls, linoleum floors, wooden desks with the flip-top and unattached plastic chairs, a globe, a model skeleton, two chalkboards, and dozens of motivational posters covering the walls. The new classroom looked very much like any classroom they had ever seen, and yet...it felt felt different.

Warmer.

Brighter.

More...exotic.

It helped that, in the far corner, a two-feet-long lizard perched on a pink tower.

"Whoa, is that a chameleon?" Carlos asked, pointing.

"Actually, it's a Jackson's Chameleon," Dorothy Ann said. "I read a book about lizards a few weeks ago. Jackson's Chameleons are known for their three horns."

"What's her name?" Wanda asked.

Ms. Frizzle led the group to the corner with a smile. As they approached, Ms. Frizzle extended an arm, on which the chameleon immediately hopped. The students stepped closer, fascinated.

"This is Liz, class. And Dorothy Ann is right. She's a _trioceros jacksonii_ , or a Jackson's Chameleon. Liz is my very closets companion and co-teacher."

"Co-teacher?"

"Oh yes, Ralphie. As you'll come to find out, Liz does almost just as much teacher as I do." Ms. Frizzle winked at Liz, and for just a second...it looked as though the chameleon actually winked back.

"Ms. Frizzle?"

"Yes, Wanda?"

"What is all this stuff?"

The class turned its attention around and followed Wanda's fingertip to the counters on the side wall. Covering the black countertops were glass containers of all shapes and sizes, all the way from a glass triangle cup to a goldfish-bowl-sized orb. Sticking out of a few were glass sticks and blue-red plastic straws. Scattered among the container collection were a few devices with plates and cups attached to the arms, plastic goggles, gardener's gloves, and mismatched tee shirts. At one end of the counters stood a bright yellow walk-in shower with no curtain and a chest-high bar. Beside that was a bright orange box tucked under a huge metal cabinet. The entire wall looked like a clumsy kid's worst nightmare.

They all turned to Ms. Frizzle, waiting for an explanation.

"Oh, that's our science department! Everything one needs to conduct most curriculum-approved science experiments is on that wall."

"But what does all this stuff do?" Keesha asked.

"Class, remember how I told you that our class is a teensy weensy bit different? Well, it's time for you to find out what I mean." Ms. Frizzle's eyes gleamed. "To the bus - we're going on a field trip!"

Excitement immediately swept through the children, bringing out huge smiles and uncontained jumps for joy. A field trip on the first day of school? The students followed Ms. Frizzle, Liz still on her arm, out of the classroom and down the hall toward the bus yard.

Arnold tapped Ms. Frizzle's arm as they stepped outside.

"Ms. Frizzle, did we have to have a permission slip for this field trip? Because my parents didn't give me a permission slip or money or-"

"Exhale all that worry, Arnold," Ms. Frizzle soothed. "All of our field trips are free and every one of them has been approved by your parents already."

Everyone cheered as they followed their teacher onto one of the bright yellow buses. This one must have been brand new, though, as the bus had excellent insulation. Inside the bus, nearly all outside noise was cut out and it was at least five degrees warmer. Everyone found a seat and Ms. Frizzle took over the wheel.

"Seatbelts, everyone!"

Seatbelts? Eyes darted to their seats and indeed found wide leather seatbelts that connected much like those on an airplane. A loud _click_ echoed inside the bus as nine buckles clasped. The door swung shut and the engine roared to life.

"Whoa!" at least five students gasped.

The bus' dashboard had been perfectly normal when they had walked by in just moments ago. But now sitting below the huge front window was a colorful display of buttons in every conceivable shape with a variety of odd markings and no words.

"Alrighty-o, here we go!" Ms. Frizzle sang, slamming down on a particularly large green square.

And suddenly, the kids knew exactly why this bus had seatbelts.

The entire vehicle lifted into the air one wheel at a time, destabilizing the interior entirely. The students bumped into those that shared their seat and the pink messenger bag that Dorothy Ann had brought flew across the aisle. Shouts of surprise filled the air as the bus began to spin so fast that the world around them was nothing but a blur of color.

Yet, the children didn't feel as though they were spinning. Quite the opposite, a stillness had overcome the bus' passengers. They sat in stunned silence as random pops and bangs trumpeted around them, not a single one of the students sure what to think or say. When the blended colors outside their windows slowed into a landscape, the children began to look around in confusion.

"Where are we?" Keesha squeaked.

"Where, indeed?" Ms. Frizzle stood and exited the bus, a smile playing at her lips.

The class frantically unbuckled and hastened to follow their teacher. In an unintended single file, the students stepped out of the bus and onto a pale pink tile floor. Gasps echoed off of the white walls that extended to a terribly tall ceiling.

"This is what I like to call the 'What If' Room."

"The 'What If' Room?"

"Yes, Ralphie. You see, class, in this room, we are safe to explore the miracles and dangers of the science laboratory without harm." Ms. Frizzle took a deep breath, smiling as though reveling in the thrill. "The best way to learn in to do, but sometimes, to do requires a little extra...creativity."

The students glanced at one another, unsure.

"So let's take our first steps at taking chances, making mistakes, and getting messy!" Ms. Frizzle stepped through a narrow doorway, class in tow.

Beyond the gap in the wall was a classroom-sized space housing three large islands with black countertops. Upon each island was a collection of items almost identical to the mess that cluttered the countertops in their real classroom. The island closest to the doorway held a forest of glass jars, cups, sticks, and such.

"Hey, it's those weird vases from the classroom," Keesha pointed out.

"Yeah, what do all these vases and stuff have to do with science, anyway?" Ralphie asked.

Ms. Frizzle clapped her hands together with excitement. "I am so glad you asked! Tell me, does anyone know what a science experiment really is?"

"Well, according to the syllabus you sent our parents," Dorothy Ann answered, "an experiment is the series of tests done to prove if something is right or wrong."

"But what kind of something would you need to prove is right or wrong with a funny-shaped jar like this?" Wanda asked, holding up a tall, thin glass.

"Wait, what are those things on the side?" Arnold pointed to the side of the glass, where a series of rough ridges marked the surface.

"They kind of look like a ruler," Molly said.

"But you can't measure a piece of paper with this!" Wanda replied, exasperated.

Quiet fell over the group as they all looked to Ms. Frizzle, waiting for an answer. But it was only after several seconds of waiting when she finally spoke.

"Is paper the only thing one might want to measure?"

Tim cleared his throat and swallowed. "They kind of remind me of this cup my mom uses when she bakes."

Keesha slapped a hand to her head. "Of course, they look like measuring lines on a measuring cup!"

"Okay, so you can use them to measure milk and oil?"

"But we're in a science lab, Wanda," Carlos said. "We won't just be measuring cooking things, right Ms. Frizzle?"

"Of course not! What kind of things do scientists measure and mix?"

They all thought for a moment before coming to the same conclusion: "Chemicals!"

"Exactly!"

"So we're going to be mixing chemicals like real scientists?" Dorothy Ann asked excitedly.

"We are, indeed."

"Can we do an experiment right now?" Wanda asked. The rest of the class nodded.

"As I always say: 'Why not?'"

Cheers bounced off the walls and the class began brainstorming a statement to prove right or wrong. Ms. Frizzle pulled several bright containers from under the counter.

"What about: What do you have to do to make one of those volcanoes the older kids make?" Ralphie asked.

Keesha frowned. "But that's not a statement. It's a question."

"Yeah, Ralphie," Dorothy Ann said. "In the syllabus, it says that an experiment test a statement, not a question."

"Righty-o, Dorothy Ann," Ms. Frizzle said. "And how can we reword that question so it makes a statement?"

"How about: You have to mix two things together to make a volcano?" Wanda offered.

"But what two things?" Carlos asked. "We can't prove it right or wrong if we don't know what to try."

"Very good, Carlos. So what might we say instead of 'things?'"

After a beat, Tim cleared his throat again and spoke softly. "What if we just pick two chemicals to try? And if it turns out wrong, we can pick two different chemicals."

"What a very intoxicating idea, Tim," Ms. Frizzle laughed, patting his shoulder.

Arnold picked up a pencil and grabbed a nearby notepad. "Okay, then let's make our statement be: You have to mix vinegar and Borax together to make a volcano."

"Let's try it!" Wanda and Ralphie shouted.

It was easy work. The kids broke into pairs and set up the experiment. Tim and Carlos found and measured out the vinegar, Keesha and Dorothy Ann measured the Borax, and Wanda and Ralphie found a large glass cylinder and stick to mix them. Molly and Arnold, however, had discovered a large box on the opposite end of the island that caught their eye.

"Ms. Frizzle, what is all this stuff?" Arnold asked, holding up a wad of cloth and plastic. In that same moment, three separate commotions interrupted Ms. Frizzle's reply.

"Oh no!" Carlos shouted.

"Ahh!" Wanda cried.

"Eeeee!" Dorothy Ann shrieked.

Ms. Frizzle grinned. "That, Arnold, would be the lab safety equipment."

"My jacket!" Carlos exclaimed, having spilled vinegar down his front.

"My finger!" Wanda yelled, lifting a finger she had cut on some chipped glass.

"My eyes!" Dorothy Ann screamed, squeezing her eyes shut from the Borax powder. "I can't see!"

"What do you mean, you can't see?!" Keesha's eyes were wide as she placed a hand on Dorothy Ann's shoulder.

"The Borax powder got in my eyes and now I can't open them!"

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," Molly fussed. "What are we going to do? Ms. Frizzle, is there anything we can do? Is there a nurse's station here?"

"Follow me, class, and we will explore the emergency procedures for the lab," Ms. Frizzle sang. "Keesha, would you mind guiding Dorothy Ann?"

Ms. Frizzle led her distressed students over to the odd shower and counters in the far corner of the room, missed in their excitement upon first entering. Keesha guided Dorothy Ann, who walked with her hands extended, from behind by her shoulders, and Wanda held her sliced finger high above her head.

"This is the section of the lab where emergencies are taken care of," Ms. Frizzle said. "This here is a cabinet filled with towels and cloth. Here you go, Carlos."

He took the offered towel and began to soak up the spilled vinegar from his sweater.

"In this drawer, we have a fully loaded First Aid kit. Come here, Wanda."

The small girl stepped forward and lowered her hand into Ms. Frizzle's. Tweezers removed the small chip of glass from the cut, alcohol wipes cleaned the wound, antibacterial cream slathered the area, and a Band Aid covered it.

"This little patch of skin will be good as new in no time!"

"Thank you, Ms. Frizzle."

"And for extreme cases," Ms. Frizzle continued, placing a hand on Dorothy Ann's shoulder, "we have a chemical shower and eye cleaner."

"An eye-cleaner?" Ralphie gasped. "What does it do, take your eyes out and wash them with soap and water?"

Ms. Frizzle laughed, but Dorothy Ann whimpered.

"Oh, have no room for worry, Dorothy Ann," the redhead assured. "No eye-removal today. No, whenever something unsavory makes its way into your eyes or onto your skin, you just step into the shower and press the one big, red button here in the center."

She guided Dorothy Ann's hand to the button. Then she took a very large step back.

"Open your eyes and let 'er rip!"

Dorothy Ann struggled to open her eyes as she slammed the button, but as it turned out, she didn't need to even try. Room-temperature water shot from the two areas beside the button with incredible pressure, forcing her eyelids back and rinsing her eyes fully with nothing but clean water. From above, the showerhead poured water straight down over her, soaking Dorothy Ann completely but effectively draining the water and chemicals from her eyes, off her body, and down the drain.

"Whoa!" the class exclaimed.

"How do you feel, Dorothy Ann?" Ms. Frizzle asked as the shower's water automatically shut off.

Sopping wet and laughing, Dorothy Ann opened her eyes and faced her classmates. "That was amazing! Using just water, the shower completely got the Borax out of my eyes and off my body! I kind of wish it wasn't so wet, though."

"Do chemical showers get used a lot?" Tim asked.

"Oh no, they're not used very often in grade school laboratories."

"How do all the kids in science class not get things in their eyes or on their clothes?" Wanda asked. "We didn't even start the experiment and we had to use it!"

"Wait!" Molly gasped. "Arnold, weren't there aprons and glasses on that table?"

The class shuffled over to the table Molly was indicating and began picking up the items available.

Carlos lifted an apron and put it over his front. "I guess this would have kept the vinegar off my jacket."

"And these would have kept my finger safe," Wanda said, pulling on a pair of gloves.

"And these keep chemicals from getting in your eyes," Arnold said, handing Dorothy Ann a pair of goggles.

"You must have to wear these things when doing experiments in a science lab to keep accidents from happening," Molly said.

Ralphie nodded. "Yeah, otherwise, we'd probably have to use the chemical shower every time we wanted to test something."

"Talk about a _toxic_ waste of our time," Carlos joked, grin growing when Dorothy Ann and Tim laughed.

"Oh, exactly, class!"

"But Ms. Frizzle, why didn't you tell us before we started the experiment?"

"Well, Arnold, without mistakes, there's little room to learn something." She smiled. "Now, I will never let any of you be in any real danger while on this magnificent journey of education. But I will let you guys take the reins and take chances, make many mistakes, and get as messy as you must to learn what needs to be taught!"

Smiles covered the faces of all eight children, gazing admiringly up at their new teacher. The teacher that hid in a cabinet instead of waiting in the classroom. The teacher that spoke with sing-song enthusiasm. The teacher with a two-feet-long chameleon as a class pet. The teacher that took them on a field trip on the first day of school. The teacher with the strange bus. The teacher that already, barely an hour into the first day, was their favorite teacher ever.

"Now that we're all properly geared up for the lab," she said. "Why don't we test out that statement, huh?"

"All right!" the kids cheered.

This time clad in aprons, gloves, and goggles, the students set to work. Tim and Ralphie measured out the Borax and poured it into the glass container, then carefully closed the box before setting it several feet away. Vinegar already measured into a glass tube by Carlos, Molly stepped forward and tilted the liquid into the Borax extremely slowly, drop by drop.

Nothing happened.

Grins faltered at the murky liquid that settled.

"What happened?" Ralphie asked.

"Nothing, obviously," Keesha replied with a roll of her eyes. Ralphie stuck his tongue out at her.

"So what might that say about your statement?"

"'You have to mix vinegar and Borax together to make a volcano.'" Dorothy Ann recited. "Well, that turned out not to be true."

The students fell quiet, not sure what to do next.

"Now what?" Carlos finally asked.

Ms. Frizzle waggled her eyebrows. "We try again."

Four experiments later, the students stood around their glass container for the fifth time. Dorothy Ann poured a white powder into it.

"Baking soda..."

Tim leaned over with his tube of clear liquid. "And vinegar..."

Bubbles immediately sprung up as the vinegar hit the baking soda, hissing angrily for a moment before flying straight into the air, covering the table. White bubbles splattered all over the table, tiny splashes leaping onto the surrounding students' aprons. The students cheered, all their hard efforts having paid off finally.

"Ms. Frizzle rules!" Ralphie cried.

"Yeah, no other teacher would let us make a volcano on the first day of school!" Wanda agreed, jumping up and down.

Not a single one of the children could imagine a better first day of school. When the bell rang at three o'clock, it surprised them all. Even after having returned to the school to go over their experiments and discuss topics for the school year, their excitement hardly fell. Not a single minute of that day was spent watching the clock. Not a single hour felt like an eternity. Not a single student had stared out the window and wished to be home instead.

The students packed up their things and lined up at the door.

"Have a wonderful afternoon, class," Ms. Frizzle said at the door, beaming. "It was an absolute pleasure to meet you all, and I cannot wait to see you all again tomorrow."

It was easy to believe her.

Ms. Frizzle swung the classroom door open as the dismissal bell rang and watched as her students filed out, heading for the front of the school. Carlos and Tim walked together, both looking at Tim's open sketchbook between them. Keesha, Molly, Arnold, and Dorothy Ann chattered in a clump. Ralphie and Wanda played tag up the hallways, much to the annoyance of surrounding teachers.

But not Ms. Frizzle.

No, Valerie Frizzle simply waved to her colleagues that glared and wished she would berate her rowdy students. She waved to their scowls and raised brows and turned back into her classroom, offering her arm to Liz as she walked to her desk. No, Ms. Frizzle couldn't care less that Ralphie and Wanda were racing through the hallways. Her new colleagues understood that she had been given a rather unusually wide range of freedom in her teaching and discipline, and it irritated them in a rather juvenile way. But it didn't faze her, no.

She had her orders.

* * *

 _Dorothy Ann, Keesha, Molly, Arnold, Tim, Carlos, Wanda, and Ralphie  
Ms. Frizzle's class  
9-4-92  
_

 _A tall woman with black hair sits at her desk. She's petting a large Jackson's Chameleon that is sitting in her lap._

 _"Well, Liz, what did you think?" the woman asks the lizard. "Do you think we did a good job?"  
_

 _Liz blinks at her and smiles._

 _On the woman's desk is a phone. It rings. She answers it and it comes out of the base on the speaker._

 _"'Magic School Bus,' producer speaking," the woman answers._

 _A little girl speaks back over the line. "Yeah, hi, is this the TV show about science labs?"_

 _"Why, yes it is."_

 _"Well I just have to say...you didn't do a very good job!"_

 _The producer sits up and looks surprised. It knocks Liz to the ground and she looks annoyed. The producer frowns. "What do you mean? I thought we covered a good amount."_

 _The girl on the phone huffs. "Yeah a_ good _amount. But you didn't cover everything, and lab safety is important!"_

 _"I know but-"  
_

 _"You didn't talk about fire!"_

 _"Yeah, well-"_

 _"Lots of science experiments require fire or burners to heat things up. You didn't mention that."_

 _"Right, because-"_

 _"You have to be really careful around fire and burners! My dad never lets my sister and me go too close to them because we might get burned, and that's true for everybody."_

 _"True, and-"_

 _"And if you_ do _get burned, it's important to know where your First Aid kit is because it has burn ointments. You have to run the burned area under cold water for at least 30 seconds and then apply the ointment. But sometimes, if it's really bad, you have to go to the doctor."_

 _"Exactly, and-"_

 _"You also never said what to do if a fire gets out of control during an experiment! All science labs have a fire extinguisher and a fire blanket. You use the fire extinguisher to put out fires and you use the fire blanket to prevent fire from reaching certain areas, even people."_

 _"Yes, so-"_

 _"So why didn't you include fire in your show on lab safety?" The girl takes a big breath because she was talking so much and so fast._

 _The producer waits a second to see if the little girl is going to interrupt her again. Then she says, "I agree, fire safety needs to be talked about in lab safety. But we only had so much time to cover so much information, and we already have an episode on fire safety planned! We figured that could save it all for then."_

 _"Okay," the little girl says. "But you still forgot about two other important parts of a science lab."_

 _"Really?" The producer reaches over to a TV on her desk and starts watching the episode. She's trying to see if she can find out what the little girl is talking about before she tells her. But she doesn't._

 _"Yeah, you forgot about the scales and kitty litter."_

 _"Oh, the scales!" The producer smacks her forehead. "I can't believe we forgot the scales! The scales are used to weigh out materials that can't be poured in a beaker or that are supposed to be measured by weight specifically."_

 _"Exactly! And the kitty litter is used if there's a liquid spill. The kitty litter soaks up the liquid and makes a clumpy powder that you can sweep up safely without ever touching the spill with your hands."_

 _"Well, the students didn't need a set of scales or the kitty litter, so we kind of blew it there."_

 _"That's no excuse!" the girl scolds._

 _"You're right," the producer sighs. "We'll be sure not to skip over any more important information, I promise. Is that fair?"  
_

 _"I guess," the girl says. "I just hope you guys don't make this show more about fantasy than facts! People might get the wrong idea."_

 _"Okay, will do!" The producer hangs up the call by pressing a button on her phone base. Liz creeps back to the producer's feet, looking up at her. The producer says, "You know, Liz, we have to the have the other producer answer the phones. These kids are too smart for me!"_

 _Liz shakes her head and hops into the producers lap again._

 _All in all, though, 'The Magic School Bus' sure feels like a hit._


	3. The Magic School Bus Warms Up

_**Friday, September 3, 1993**_

"Do you see anymore firewood?"

"What are you talking about, Arnold? We're in the _forest_! There's firewood everywhere!"

"Right..." The redhead sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I guess I meant do you see any littler sticks? We already brought back plenty of big logs."

Wanda rolled her eyes, but she stepped off the small dirt path and kicked away some fallen leaves to reveal several scattered twigs. "There."

"Thanks." Arnold bent over to begin collecting. "Phoebe, can you help me? There's a lot over here."

A small girl, red hair many shades darker than Arnold's, stepped from behind Wanda. Nerves tightened her smile as she nodded. "Okay."

It was quick work with three pairs of hands gathering the wood for their campfire. The breeze was thin and light, although it still carried a chill that, if hit just right, could cause goosebumps to erupt on the children's skin. But that wasn't why these three second graders were hunting for firewood.

"Guys, hurry, I think we're almost there!" a breathless voice called out.

Wanda straightened first and led the way back to the campsite a few yards down the path. "Yeah, yeah, Ralphie, you said that ten minutes ago."

"I mean it this time!"

Arms laden with twigs, Wanda, Arnold, and Phoebe stepped into the campsite their class was busy preparing. It was the first Friday back to school for the new year, and everyone was immensely pleased that Ms. Frizzle had called for an overnight camping trip to study the Rhode Island wildlife. With the sun far from the horizon and their tents already up with sleeping bags rolled out, Ralphie had been the first to declare that he was hungry. It was this that had spurred the class into action as they tried to start a fire.

Without matches.

"I think it's really going to happen this time," Keesha said as Wanda, Arnold, and Phoebe carefully laid their armfuls of sticks alongside the pile of logs just outside the gathered group.

In the very center of the campsite, Keesha, Ralphie, and Tim clustered over the firepit while Dorothy Ann sat nearby, her trusty camping guide propped open in her lap. Keesha and Tim held firm on each end of a sturdy bit of string they had found among Ms. Frizzle's camping equipment. Wrapped in the string's middle was a thick and knobby stick that Ralphie was furiously twisting with the palms of his hands. At the base, the stick pressed hard on a flat rock covered with dry leaves.

Ralphie's face was pink with the exertion he had been carrying out for the past fifteen minutes, but his blue eyes were determined.

"I agree, I think you're almost there," Dorothy Ann commented, sitting up on her knees to inspect the others' work. "See? My camping guide says that to start a fire without matches, you have to create enough heat yourself. By spinning this stick on a rock fast enough and long enough, it should catch these leaves on fire."

"Yeah, and look!" Tim exclaimed. "There's some smoke now!"

The class all leaned in together, watching as smoke did, indeed, begin to filter through the leaves and into their eyes. A few moments passed as Ralphie, vigor renewed, continued to twist the stick. The seconds trickled by with each student perched in anticipation, until finally a tiny flame erupted and overtook one of the leaves.

The class cheered.

"Thank goodness!" Ralphie gasped, collapsing backward and letting his arms fall to the ground. "I was really getting tired!"

"Yeah, but look what you did!" Keesha said. "Now we have a fire to cook with!"

"Not a very big one, though," Wanda said, squinting down at the minuscule flame. "That'll never cook those burgers Tim's grandpa gave us."

Dorothy Ann grabbed a few of the smaller twigs from the firewood pile as the peeked at her camping guide. "Well, we need to feed the fire. According to my research, we need to add a few little sticks to the fire first, then we can eventually start adding bigger pieces of wood that'll last longer."

Tim and Arnold helped her, and before long their tiny flame had engulfed the few twigs and transformed itself into a true campfire.

"Still small, though," Wanda commented.

"That's right!" Ms. Frizzle's voice sang from across the campsite. Liz perched on her arm, Ms. Frizzle danced her way across the patch of flattened grass as she came to inspect her students' work.

Phoebe looked confused. "But, Ms. Frizzle, isn't a campfire supposed to be bigger?"

"And hotter?" Tim asked. He lifted his hands to feel for the heat that wasn't quite there.

Ms. Frizzle nodded, her smile coming to a rest on her face. "Oh, but this fire _will_ get bigger and hotter! As long as you continue to care for it as Dorothy Ann was describing, we'll have a roaring and soaring fire made for cooking delectable burgers and roasting gooey marshmallows in just a few short hours!"

Ralphie shot up, eyes wide. "A few _hours_?! But I wanted burgers now!" he whined.

Ms. Frizzle's reply was lost behind the approach of a small blue car. It pulled up to the class' campsite, stopping just behind the bus. Turning from Ralphie, Ms. Frizzle clapped her hands and began to make her way to the new arrival.

"Oh, look, class! We are complete once more!"

Everyone looked over and watched as an olive-skinned boy leaped out of the backseat with a large pack on his back and a sleeping bag under his arm. He slammed his door shut and went around to the opposite side of the car for a moment, only to reappear with a younger boy rolling behind him in a shiny blue wheelchair.

"We'll be going in just a minute, Mikey!" the man behind the wheel called as Ms. Frizzle stepped over to speak with him.

The younger boy, Mikey, waved his hand to show that he had heard and continued to follow as the older boy hurried to the class and their small fire.

"Hey, Carlos!" Tim greeted, jumping up to high-five his friend.

"Hey, guys!" Carlos said. He dropped his things just outside the fire pit's circle.

"Where've you been?" Wanda asked. "We've been out here for an hour!"

"I had to go to the doctor," Carlos replied, wrinkling his nose. "But my dad drove me out here so I could camp, too."

"Is this your little brother?" Keesha asked with a glance at Mikey.

Carlos turned and chuckled. "Oh, yeah! Everybody, this is Mikey! Mikey, this is...everybody!"

"Is that your fire?" Mikey asked, pointing. Everyone's eyes followed his finger to their very little flame, which pretended to disappear every time a breeze passed. "It's awfully small."

Ralphie crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, it just needs some time. It'll be huge, you'll see!"

Caros raised his eyebrows. "But fires take a long time to get big, Ralphie. And it sounds like you won't be able to wait that long," he laughed as Ralphie's stomach gave a loud rumble.

"You know, you don't have to wait for the fire to cook your food," Mikey said.

Everyone's head whipped to the younger boy.

"What do you mean?" Phoebe asked. "Ms. Frizzle said that we have to wait for the fire to grow to do any cooking."

Mikey grinned mischievously. "Not if you have an electric cooker."

He twisted and reached into the pack that hung on the back of his chair. After a few seconds of rummaging, he produced for everyone to see a square device that covered most of his lap. He pulled out the plug and cord from the bottom.

Keesha folded her arms. "That's a marshmallow smoker, not a burger cooker."

Mikey waved her comment away. "It's basically the same thing. Same concept, at least. You need heat to cook, and that fire doesn't have the heat that my marshmallow smoker has right away. You'll have burgers in just a matter of minutes with this baby! All you need is an outlet."

Keesha opened her mouth to argue, but Ralphie had found his feet and was eyeing the smoker eagerly. "Then let's test it out! C'mon, there's an outlet we can use on the bus! Ms. Frizzle won't mind."

They all glanced back over to the blue car, where Ms. Frizzle was still bent over and deep in conversation with Mr. Ramon.

"C'mon," Carlos said, starting to lead the way. "Mikey'll have to leave soon anyway, and it can't hurt to just try while the fire's still warming up."

Unable to come up with much more of an argument against it, Keesha and the others followed. They all clamored onto the bus, Arnold and Carlos helping heave Mikey and his chair up the two tall steps. Mikey handed his brother the smoker and Carlos dropped to his knees to set up the device correctly. Making sure the smoker was level on the floor, he then pulled the cord carefully until he could plug it into the outlet that was below the front dashboard.

Dorothy Ann was the last on the bus, arriving just as Carlos plugged in the smoker. He sat up and grinned.

"Why do you have Liz with you?" he asked, nodding at the large chameleon in Dorothy Ann's arms.

She shrugged. "She was making her way over here and I thought she might want a break from the wind."

"You think a lizard cares if it's windy?"

"You have a jacket. She doesn't."

Carlos rolled his eyes as he stood up. "She's probably fine, D.A."

"Well, regardless-"

"Whoa! What do all these buttons do?" Mikey exclaimed suddenly, pointing at the dashboard. "None of the other buses look like this!"

Phoebe nodded earnestly. "I know, Mikey, I've been wondering, too. At my old school, the buses didn't look like this, nor did they have seatbelts like this one does."

Carlos shrugged as he turned to her. "We don't know what all the buttons do, but Ms. Frizzle's bus is different than the others because it does really weird stuff."

"Weird stuff?" Phoebe echoed, looking horrified.

Wanda nodded. "Yeah, you weren't here last year, Phoebe, but Ms. Frizzle takes us on field trips all the time! And they're really cool, not like going to a boring old museum or something."

"But...all these buttons look really dangerous," Phoebe commented, looking over Mikey's shoulder at the dashboard.

Mikey lifted a finger. "Let's see what they do!"

"Mikey, don't!" the others screamed, lunging, but it was too late. Before even Phoebe, who was closest, could stop him, Mikey had reached up and pressed one of the larger buttons that resembled a tye-dyed tee shirt, all swirls of oranges and yellows.

Immediately, the bus doors slammed shut, the sound seeming to echo inside with the frightened students. A low rumble started just beneath the dash, causing the buttons to rattle slightly as the kids hastily stepped away. Mikey's and Phoebe's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as the wheels of the bus lifted from the ground and tilted the end upward. Although everyone scrambled to sturdy their footing, the rise was too sudden and too high. Mikey flew to the front first, his chair only making his race that much faster, followed by an unsuspecting Phoebe, who crashed into the back of the chair with a gasp. In her wake came Tim, then Keesha, then Wanda, then Ralphie then Dorothy Ann and Liz, and finally Carlos. Smashed in a clump at the dashboard and only pressing more vibrantly colored buttons in their haste to stand up, the class heard a large hum grow under their feet, drowning out their terrified screams.

But just as the fear began to overwhelm its passengers, the bus abruptly righted itself, throwing all the students flat on their backs and sending Liz scrambling away. Before they could even consider finding their feet, however, the deep hum vanished. A slight ringing filled their ears for a moment, then each child felt as though they were being sucked into the very floorboard of the bus itself, disappearing into a darkness that consumed them together, muffling their renewed cries of surprise.

Their feet and wheels slammed onto solid ground then, harsh enough to startle their eyes open but gently enough that none of them lost their balance again. They looked frantically at one another, fear mirrored on each face.

They weren't on the bus any longer.

"Wh-where are we?" Phoebe asked, sounding near tears. Tim stepped over and placed a hand on her shoulder.

Mikey audibly gulped, pointing at something just in front of them all. It was an enormous wall of thick and sleek black ropes as wide as their legs, all protruding from a single source that seemed to break through the large metal wall before them.

"I...I think..." Mikey swallowed. "I think we're _inside_ the marshmallow smoker."

Phoebe gasped. "But how can that be?"

Arnold groaned. "I _knew_ I should've stayed home today! This is basically a field trip!"

"Wh-what?"

Carlos just laughed. "This is just like a field trip! Ms. Frizzle does this all the time! You'll get used to it, trust me, Phoebe."

"But-but-"

"Oh, come on now, don't be such a weasley wimp!" Wanda said, strutting forward to inspect the wall. "If Mikey's right and we're inside his marshmallow smoker, then all this stuff must be the wires inside."

"But where to they all go?" Keesha asked as she looked about the dimly lit space around them. "What are they all for?"

"Yeah, I thought there was just the one plug," Tim said.

"Well, there's one cord that comes out and goes into the wall," Mikey said. He seemed to be recovering from the shock quicker than Phoebe, who was still huddled wide-eyed into Tim's side. "But all electronics have more wires and stuff inside them." He wheeled over to the wall with Wanda and pointed to where the large wires converged to go through the wall. "Yeah...see? They all come together here, where they form the plug wire that we see on the outside. But inside, they split up and go where they're needed."

"Which is where?" Wanda asked.

"Well, each wire has a different job," Carlos answered.

"That's right," Dorothy Ann said, stepping forward with a small booklet in her hand. "Some connect to the switchboard, which this must be," she gestured to a part of the wall that looked like a large set of double-doors, where several of the wires seemed to fuse into the metal. "This manual says that the switchboard has the 'on' and 'off' switch, along with three different heat settings."

"Speaking of heat, is it just me, or is it getting really hot in here?" Ralphie asked nervously.

The rest of the group felt it immediately - it _was_ getting hotter, and fast.

"But...but I didn't even turn on the heat!" Carlos said anxiously.

Mikey shook his head. "Electronics still get warm on their own. That's why a computer has a fan built into it, so it doesn't overheat. We're just feeling the wires warming up as electricity flows through them."

"It's a good thing Carlos didn't turn on the heat, then," Arnold said as he pushed up his long sleeves. "It's getting hot enough already just from the electricity."

"Is that why electric cookers are faster to heat up than a real fire?" Wanda asked. "Just because the electricity heats up quicker than a fire?"

Dorothy Ann nodded. "Exactly. In my camper's guide, it talked about the differences between cooking with a fire and cooking with a stove or oven at home. You have to wait a lot longer and keep a closer eye on things that you cook over an open flame. Fires aren't as predictable as electric sources when it comes to cooking."

"That makes sense," Tim said. "Every time I've gone camping, my mom and dad usually just pack sandwiches or salads so we don't have to wait for a fire."

"Okay, okay," Wanda interrupted impatiently. "So that's what these wires go to," she said, gesturing to the switchboard wires, "but what about the other wires?" She pointed to the wires that drifted deeper into the darkness behind them.

A quiet settled over the group as they eyed the unknown. Finally, Carlos took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Only one way to find out."

* * *

"Oh, thank you so much for helping me with these heavier items," Ms. Frizzle said as she and Mr. Ramon dropped their loads onto the ground just outside the fire circle. Mr. Ramon straightened his back and stretched.

"Not a problem, Ms. Frizzle. Happy to help." He glanced around the campsite. "Where'd those kids get to? Bit irresponsible to leave their fire unattended."

"Oh, I quite agree. But perhaps they found something worth exploring deeper into the wood."

"Well, I ought to try and find Mikey, at least. He and I need to get going soon."

Ms. Frizzle nodded, looking around as well, although she was hardly worried. "Why don't you check the tents and I'll see if they strayed into the wood, shall we?"

"Sounds like a plan," Mr. Ramon said as he walked toward the tents. Ms. Frizzle stepped out of the campsite.

The tents were empty, save for the sleeping bags and backpacks strewn about, and Mr. Ramon was just making to go around the backside of the school bus and his own car when we noticed the marshmallow smoker he'd recently given Mikey sitting on the top of the bus' steps. It was plugged in and looked ready to go. Knowing the impatience of kids, Mr. Ramon chuckled to himself and stepped inside the bus, giving a quick look down the aisle for the students before returning his attention to the cheap smoker. Mikey must have lent it to the class when they heard about how long they'd have to wait for the fire to heat to the right temperature for cooking.

"Ah, kids," he said warmly. "May as well get it heated up for them while we look."

He reached down and found the smoker already turned on, so he moved his finger over and pressed the heating setting button, making sure it was on a hot as it could go.

"That'll be nice as hot when we find those kids," Mr. Ramon said as he stood up and returned to his search for the class. "That'll make Ralphie's day!"

* * *

"Wow!"

The kids had followed Carlos and Wanda through the semi-darkness away from the switchboard, all of them keeping a safe hand on the wires that hung along the metal walls. It wasn't the most breathtaking thing, but something about the collection of wire coils that sat in the center of the smoker, just beneath a grated ceiling that let in a moon-like light was beautiful in its own way.

The wires the class had been using to guide them were swallowed up by several large boxes that sat to the sides of the coils, almost like barriers. These in turn were singularly connected to the coils with much thinner wires that were bright green and red, not the dull black of the larger ones.

"What is all this stuff?" Phoebe asked, breaking the awed silence. Her curiosity seemed to have finally won over her initial terror, but Tim and Keesha had kept close to her just in case she needed reassurance.

Mikey grinned. "They're the coils that actually heat the food!"

Ralphie scratched at his baseball cap. "How do these coils heat anything up?"

"Yeah, they're cold as ice!" Dorothy Ann said, having tentatively placed her hand on one of the coils. She pulled it back to reach into her book bag.

"Well, the coils get hot when the electricity gets to them," Mikey explained. "When the smoker's heat is turned on, the electricity is let through these boxes here and into those littler wires, which then make the coils heat up."

Keesha looked upward at the grate. "I guess the coils have to get pretty hot for the heat to reach all the way up there and still be able to cook food faster than a fire."

"Not faster than a fire, just more consistent and much more evenly than a fire," Dorothy Ann corrected, nose stuck in a book that she had pulled from her bag. "They just heat to the correct temperature quicker."

A thundering boom echoed all around them then, the sound bouncing off the metal walls and smacking into each child as it raced throughout the smoker. A distinct humming sound erupted from the boxes around them. Quite suddenly, each of the many coils began to change from their matte gray to a glowering amber.

"What was that?" Arnold asked loudly.

"Ouch!" Dorothy Ann shrieked, dropping her book and scrambling away from the coil she was near as fast as she could. "Ow, ow, ow, ow!"

"What happened?" Carlos asked, hurrying forward with Phoebe and Tim.

Dorothy Ann was shaking. Her left arm and left side of her face were an angry shade of red. Tears filled her eyes.

"It burned me!" she said unnecessarily. "I thought Mikey said the coils don't get hot unless the heat is turned on!"

"They're not supposed to!" Mikey said. "Someone must have come and turned on the smoker!"

"Which means..." Ralphie looked around, watching as all the coils began to shine, the initial amber color giving away to a blinding white-yellow. "...it's about to get _really_ hot in here!"

"Oh bad, oh bad, oh bad, oh bad bad bad bad bad!" Keesha sputtered, wringing her hands.

"Come on, we can't stay in here!" Tim cried, gesturing to everyone. "We have to get out of here!"

The kids ran from the coils, hurrying back along the path they had walked earlier. It was now completely lit up from the light coming off the coils, which made it easier to run from the harsh wave of heat that was steadily growing. They ran as fast as their legs would take them but all skidded to a stop as they reached the switchboard.

"What are we gonna do?" Wanda worried, looking at the wall. "There's not exactly an exit!"

"Mikey, this was all your idea!" Dorothy Ann cried, face turning redder as the air around them got hotter. Beads of sweat were already forming on the kids' heads.

"What do you mean, my idea?" Mikey asked wildly. "I didn't want to go inside the marshmallow smoker!"

"Yeah, but you were the one that had to touch all the buttons!" Wanda snapped.

Phoebe stepped forward then, hands between Mikey and the two girls. "Let's not fight! We have to get out of here or we'll all burn up!"

Tim nodded. "Phoebe's right. Mikey, you know more about electronics than we do - how can we get out?"

"I...I don't know. There's the grate-"

"The one where all those hot coils are?" Keesha sneered. "Real smart."

"No, that's not the only way!" Carlos interrupted. "Electronics aren't completely closed up because they get hot on their own, right? Like the fans and holes in the backs of computer towers, right, Mikey?"

Mikey nodded. He looked miserable as Dorothy Ann and Wanda continued to glare at him.

"Okay, but the smoker is supposed to get hot," Phoebe said slowly. "So would it still have holes to cool it off?"

"That's it!" Mikey cried.

"What's it?"

"The switchboard, right here!"

"What about it?" Arnold asked.

Mikey rolled closer to the wall, wiping sweat from his brow as he inspected it closer. After a moment, he beamed and pointed to a spot between the 'on' and 'off' switches. "Yeah, right here! See how it's a bit lighter than the other parts of the wall? We should be able to pop one of these switches out and climb right through!"

"Alright, Mikey!" Ralphie cheered. Dorothy Ann glowered at him, causing him to shrink away a couple feet.

"Let's do it!" Tim said. "It's just going to get hotter!"

It wasn't terribly hard work, as the switches were nearly eye-level for the miniature children, but the growing heat around them made things more challenging. While Tim, Carlos, and Wanda worked on dislodging the 'on' switch, Ralphie, Phoebe, and Keesha worked on the 'off' switch. This left Arnold and Mikey to watch with a very sulky Dorothy Ann.

"I'm sorry about your arm," Mikey said quietly. "And your face."

"And my book."

"What?"

"The book I dropped. It got left there and I'll never get it back!"

"Oh." Mikey dropped his gaze. "Sorry for that, too."

Dorothy Ann opened her mouth, but Mikey was saved whatever angry remark she planned to spit at him when a wave of fresh, chilled air whipped across all their faces suddenly. Sunlight poured through the holes that now punctured the wall where the power switches used to be. The children cheered.

"Let's get out of here!" Arnold shouted.

The group climbed through the two holes that were only just large enough for them to slide through. Once all freed of the debilitating heat and confines of the marshmallow smoker, everyone scuttled away from the device as fast as they were able. Giddy relief made them all tumble into one another just under the monumentally sized driver's seat before they realized that they had one more problem to solve before they could truly breathe easy.

"Uhm, guys?" Phoebe asked. "How...how do we get big again?"

The students looked at the seat near them and let out a collective groan. They were still barely an inch high and standing in the ruts of the floorboards of the bus.

"Usually, Ms. Frizzle is with us," Tim told Phoebe.

Arnold dropped to his knees. "We're going to be little forever!"

Phoebe's eyes grew wide with panic, and Wanda reached over and smacked Arnold on the shoulder.

"Oh hush, Arnold, that's not true!" she said, pointing. "Look!"

Liz, somehow having been missed in the shrinking and easily the size of a three-story mall, crouched under the driver's seat of the school bus, eyeing the group of bug-sized children with great interest. Ralphie blanched.

"She's probably wondering how delicious we all are!"

The kids stepped away, but Liz was faster with her enormous strides. She closed the distance between them in just a few seconds. From directly beneath her, Liz was humongous - none of the students could see the top of her head from their position so low to the floor.

"Ahhh!" Mikey screamed.

"No, wait!" Phoebe called, stopping Mikey from hastily wheeling away. "I don't think she wants to hurt us. I think...I think she wants to help."

"Phoebe, Liz is amazing," Keesha said. "But she's a _lizard_. She doesn't want to help us. She wants to eat us!"

Phoebe frowned. "Well, I don't believe that. Look, she's offering for us to climb on her back."

Indeed, Liz's head had come down to rest on the floor beside them, eye twitching as though gesturing to her spiny back. Ignoring her new classmates' cries of protest, Phoebe carefully climbed onto Liz's back. It was surprisingly easy, and the looks of awe and confusion on her new friends' faces were totally worth the risk now that it was obvious Liz wasn't going to eat them.

"Come on, guys!"

Wanda was the first to break the spell. "Alright! Let's ride Liz!"

* * *

"Oh, Mr. Ramon!" Ms. Frizzle called in a sing-song voice. "I have found the children!"

Mr. Ramon, who had only gotten as far as the other side of his car and was contemplating entering the wood himself, sighed with relief as he made his way back to the campsite.

"And thanks to a little help and a little love, our fire is well on its way to be a proper, burger-cooking campfire!"

Mr. Ramon came around the school bus and was surprised to find that the baby fire from before was very nearly a fully fledged fire already. But perhaps he had underestimated his son's teacher. She did seem quite capable of anything as she stood beside her flame, surrounded by her students while she gently smeared a creamy ointment onto Dorothy Ann's arm and face.

"What happened?" Mr. Ramon asked as he came up to the group.

"Oh, Dorothy Ann here was just the unfortunate victim of circumstance, it seems," Ms. Frizzle said soothingly. "But she definitely gave me a good reason to show off my new Burn-Away Ointment that my second-cousin Ember recently perfected!"

"Oooh, bad luck, D.A.," Mr. Ramon said with a sympathetic shake of his head. "You kids have to watch out for that heat; it can be dangerous. It's always safe to stay a couple feet back from a fire."

Dorothy Ann huffed a little, but she didn't correct him.

"Well, come on, Mikey," Mr. Ramon continued. "I think we've intruded on Ms. Frizzle's field trip long enough. Say goodbye now."

Making to follow his dad back to the car, Mikey waved. "Bye, everybody! It was...uh, it was good to meet you all!"

"Bye, Mikey!" the group called, some a little less enthusiastic than others.

"So," Ms. Frizzle began, her eyes knowing, "have a little fun with the marshmallow smoker?"

Immediately, the class plunged into the details of what happened to them, desperately trying to make sure that their dear teacher knew it was an accident, that they never meant to use the bus without her permission, that they were as careful as they could be. But how could they have possibly known that Mr. Ramon was going to walk by and turn on the heat while they were so close to the coils? The story burst out of them all like tidal waves, at least two students speaking at once the entire time as they shared the tale of their first field trip alone.

"But we managed to slide out through the 'on' and 'off' switches," Wanda said.

"Which we broke," Arnold said.

Dorothy Ann nodded. "But we had to! Otherwise, we would have melted inside that thing!"

"But we got out okay," Ralphie continued. "And then Liz saw us!"

"We were so tiny still, though, so we thought she thought we were bugs to eat," Keesha said.

Tim grinned. "But Phoebe didn't think so! She knew Liz was trying to help us."

"Well, Liz seems pretty smart," Phoebe said with a shy smile. "I may only have known her for a week, but I think Liz knows what's going on more than we think."

Wanda was still bouncing on her toes with excitement. "So we climbed onto Liz's back-"

"-after Phoebe did it first," Tim clarified.

"-and Liz took us to the dashboard and found the right button that unshrunk us!" Wanda finished.

Ms. Frizzle looked impressed. "How truly courageous! You know, I have always said that Liz is more of a co-teacher than a pet, haven't I?"

"Well, yes," Dorothy Ann said, gingerly moving her burned arm at the elbow. "But we just didn't expect it to be so true!"

"Well, as I always say, 'true magic takes time,'" Ms. Frizzle said with a wink. "So, after spending a little time warming up to the interior of Mikey's marshmallow smoker, what all did you learn?"

Carlos chuckled. "That electricity warms up way faster than any old campfire!"

"Yeah," Arnold agreed. "It got warm just being turned on, not even heating anything. Electricity itself if warm."

"And that's why cooking electric is easier and faster than cooking with fire," Keesha said. "The electricity heats up just as fast every time."

"Whereas fire, you have to slowly feed and take care of it for a long time so it can grow and get hot enough to cook your food right," Wanda finished.

Ms. Frizzle clapped her hands and squealed. "Ooooh, goody! I am so proud of you all for using such an opportunity to take chances, make mistakes, and get messy!"

"Oh, we got messy, alright," Dorothy Ann scoffed.

Carlos frowned. "Come on, D.A., Mikey said he was sorry. And Ms. Frizzle said that burn isn't that bad."

Dorothy Ann just stuck up her nose and turned away from him. Carlos sighed and turned away, too.

"Well, Phoebe, what did you think of the experience?" Ms. Frizzle asked as she carefully set a thin log into the rising flames. The sun was nearly at the tree tops, and their fire would need to be ready for cooking in the next hour if they wanted to be fed before dark.

Phoebe smiled as she watched her new teacher work. "It was a bit scary at first, especially without a teacher there. But I think we did well! And it was really fun!"

"Glad to hear it! Because in my class, that's how we learn. We leap off the cliff into adventure, dodging danger with the use of our quick wit, all the while soaking up knowledge for yet another adventure down the line! It might be scary at times, but we'll always do well so long as we have one another to collaborate with, wouldn't you agree?"

Phoebe beamed. "Oh yes, Ms. Frizzle!"

"Now class, let's get to seeing some of that wildlife I promised you, shall we?"

Cheering and smiling, the class followed as their teacher led them into the forest, although not so far as to lose sight of their kindling campfire.

* * *

 _Carlos, Phoebe, Tim, Wanda, Dorothy Ann, Keesha, Arnold, and Ralphie  
Ms. Frizzle's class  
9-10-93  
_

 _The producer's office is just as messy as it was when "The Magic School Bus" ran their first episode. Not that it's the messiest an office could be. The desk can still be used and the floor is only halfway covered in piles of paper. But there are coffee mugs and water bottles and take-out plates all over the place, and a strange collection of items from the year of shooting covers the room like a strange thrift store._

 _A dark man sits at a plain wooden table. He's working on a device that has wires poking out of it, and he's trying to get his screwdriver to turn when the phone across the room rings._

 _He says, "Liz, would you mind hitting the speaker phone for me?" because he doesn't want to stop working._

 _Liz, who is lying in her pink hammock next to the phone on the desk, reaches out with one arm and pokes the landline's base. She misses the button a couple times before she finally presses the speaker phone. The phone stops ringing._

 _"'Magic School Bus,' producer speaking," the man says, talking loud enough to be heard across the room. His screwdriver still won't turn._

 _A young boy's voice speaks from the speaker phone. "Hey! I just watched your show on electric heat!"_

 _"The old campfire versus stove top argument, huh?"_

 _"Exactly. Well, I just called to say that you missed one!"_

 _"Huh?" The producer finally twists the screwdriver, but he drops it in surprise. "Missed one?"_

 _"Yeah, one of the different heating methods. There's more than just flame and electric."_

 _"Oh, well...yes, we did." The producer turns his device upright, revealing it to be a single-burner, portable stove. He stands up from the table and moves over to a big cabinet. "There's also propane, though we didn't mention it in the show because we weren't sure we'd have enough time to cover all three."_

 _The boy sighs. "I mean, I guess that's okay. But propane is very important! My dad uses a propane grill instead of a charcoal grill, which uses natural fire, because he says it's easier."_

 _"He's right." The producer begins looking through the cabinet. "Propane is easier for cooking than natural fire. Think of it as a bridge between fire and electric heat. For grilling purposes, like burgers and steaks, propane gives your food that grilled feel without having to wait as long for the fire to warm up, since propane tends to heat up faster."_

 _"It can be awfully dangerous, though," the boy warns._

 _The producer finds a kettle and moves back to the table, where he fills it with water from a pitcher. "It can be, yes. Just like fire and electricity, propane has its dangers. With fire, it's how unpredictable it can be and how easily it spreads. With electricity, you have to worry about the settings and even over-heating a device and frying it. With propane, you have to worry about the gas."_

 _"Wait, gas?"_

 _"Ohhh yes," the producer chuckles, setting his kettle on the burner and turning on the heat. "Propane is a gas, and if you add too little gas, you won't have a successful flame to cook with. But if you add too much gas, you can cause a small explosion. So you always need a grown-up around when you're using it."_

 _"It's probably just a good idea to have a grown-up around anytime you're cooking something with any kind of heat, huh?"_

 _"Bingo. Thanks for calling. Bye!"_

 _"Bye!" The little boy hangs up._

 _The producer waits for his water to boil in the kettle for a few seconds before he calls, "Hey, Liz?"_

 _She only cracks open one eye at him._

 _"Want some tea? This water shouldn't take too long to boil."_

 _But the phone rings again, and the producer walks over to answer it himself this time._

 _"'Magic School Bus,' producer speaking."_

 _"You guys didn't even talk about safe handling practices!"_

 _The producer groans. He had hoped the audience didn't notice their mistake. "I know, I know. We kind of messed up there."_

 _"You sure did!" the girl says, annoyed. "It's very important to know how to stay safe while you're handling heats!"_

 _"It is, and we weren't trying to avoid it, we just-"_

 _"With natural fire, you can't walk away from it, especially if your fire is in the woods or near other things that can catch fire easily, like dry grass and leaves. You can't stand too close to it, either, because sometimes sparks come off of it and can land on you. And if those sparks catch something else on fire, you have to put those out right away with water or you could start a forest fire!"_

 _"Exactly," the producer agrees. He steps back to his kettle to check the water. "And with electric heat, it's important not to ever touch its source, like a stove's burner, even if you've turned it off. Because even though electric heat comes on quickly, the heat doesn't leave quickly. You also can't have water getting into your electronic source's wires and circuits, otherwise you might short-out the device and break it."_

 _"And with propane, you have to make sure you don't have the gas too high or too low. But you have to especially make sure you don't have the gas on anytime you're not actively using it as a heat source. Because if you have the gas on and it's not being burned off, you could cause a gas build up that will catch fire later when someone lights a match or something nearby."_

 _"Definitely, because all that gas will spread into the air around the tank, so any heat source it finds will light it." The producer's water is finally boiling, and he pours water into two mugs with tea bags. "You're a pretty sharp kid."_

 _"Well, it's important to be safe when using heat," the little girl says proudly. "If you aren't, you could end up with a heat rash like Dorothy Ann or worse!"_

 _"Ohhh yes, there are a lot of ways to get hurt with heat," the producer agrees. He makes a point to turn off and unplug the portable stove. "And you're right, we really should have included ways to stay safe while using heat. But...we just didn't have time!"  
_

 _"Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure," the girl says. It sounds like she's probably rolling her eyes. "Just make sure not to miss safety tips again in future episodes!"_

 _"Okay, okay, we will. Goodbye now."_

 _The producer hangs up the phone and grabs his two mugs of steaming tea. He sets one on his cluttered desk next to Liz in her hammock. She fell asleep during the last phone call. The producer pets her stomach._

 _"Well," he says quietly, "all in all, I think we did alright."_

 _In her sleep, Liz smiles._


	4. The Magic School Bus: Brain Games

_**Tuesday, March 24, 1998**_

Time hadn't changed much among the Frizzle Elite, as they had come to be known. The eight bright minds Ms. Valerie Felicity Frizzle had taken under her wing had basked in her teaching for nearly six entire school years, adventuring all the way. From trips to the depths of the ocean, to the furthest reaches of space, to the miniscule world of atoms, to the distance past of dinosaurs, Ms. Frizzle had led her bravely curious students through the wonders of their world with boundless energy and contagious enthusiasm. And while Walkerville Elementary School capped out at fifth grade, that hadn't stopped Ms. Frizzle from following her students to the castle-esque, century-old Walkerville Jr. High School halfway across town. After so long with such magic, none of the students could imagine school (or life) without Ms. Frizzle anyway.

Liz had moved with them, of course. Her perch was as extravagant as always in the light of the single window of their new classroom. She lazed more and more in her rising age, which was exactly what she was doing when the 8:00 bell rang.

"Ooooh, I can't wait, I can't wait!" Wanda squealed as she peered out the window under Liz's hammock. "When is she going to be here?"

"Relax, Wanda," Keesha said from her desk nearby.

"Relax? I can't relax!"

"Well, you're going to have to," Dorothy Ann said. She was only just stepping into the classroom, carrying a large box. "Ms. Frizzle just got a call from Phoebe's grandpa - they're running a little late with Phoebe's diorama. I doubt we'll get started without her."

"Ugh!"

"What's the rush, Wan?" Carlos called from across the room.

"What's the rush?" Wanda repeated exasperatedly. "What's the matter with all of you? Am I the only one that remembers we're going to actually see a real human brain today?"

The classroom door burst open. "How could anyone forget?" came a sing-song voice. With rose-gray heels and a matching dress that seemed to swirl the longer one looked at it, Ms. Frizzle looked a little like a brain herself. Although her own brain was protected by a mass of curly red hair and her trademark grin.

"Good morning, class!" Ms. Frizzle said as she floated to her desk after Dorothy Ann, who dropped her box on top.

"Good morning, Ms. Frizzle!"

She peeked into the box briefly, then gestured grandly toward the door she had just entered. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet my good friend, Dr. Emma Thinket, medical examiner."

Standing in the open doorway of their classroom stood a thin woman with skin that dipped into the extreme end of the definition for 'pale.' But Dr. Thinket's smile was warm and the eyes behind her glasses were bright as she stepped into the room with a smile. She adjusted her purple lab coat.

"Hello, kids," she said. She made her way to Arnold's desk, which was directly in front of Ms. Frizzle's, and set down a lunchbox-sized cooler.

Wanda was on it in a flash. "Is this it, Dr. Thinket? Is this the real live brain?!"

"Well, I wouldn't call it 'live' anymore, but it definitely is real. Would you all like to see?"

The children quickly gathered around the desk, eyes alight with excitement, and Dr. Thinket carefully removed the cooler's lid with a gentle flourish.

"That's _it_?" Wanda sneered. Keesha smacked her arm. "Ow, hey! I just meant that it doesn't look like much at all! You wouldn't think that this lump controls the entire human body."

"Ah, but control it does," Ms. Frizzle hummed at her desk. "Without that lump, Wanda, you and I and every other living creature would just be compost."

"That's right," Dr. Thinket said. "Although it doesn't look like much at all-" (and the surprisingly small grey meatball in the cooler definitely didn't look like much) "-this organ is the single most valuable part of the human body. When in working order, it contains over 100 billion nerves that communicate constantly through trillions of connections called synapses."

"Whoa, wait," Ralphie said, holding his hands up. "Billions? Trillions? In _that_?" He pointed accusingly at the brain on ice.

Dr. Thinket nodded. "Oh, yes! Your brain has been called the most advanced supercomputer because of its ability to handle such complexities in the fraction of the time most electrical computers today can only dream of."

Just then, Phoebe poked her head in the classroom door. "Hey, could someone-oh, sorry," she said, noticing Dr. Thinket.

"Oh, good morning, Phoebe!" Ms. Frizzle called. "Need some help with that diorama of yours?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll help," Tim offered. But Dr. Thinket stepped in front of him.

"I'll go," she said. "It's Phoebe, right? Valerie told me about this diorama you've been working on, and I have to say I'm really eager to see it!"

"Really?"

"Absolutely! Lead the way!"

Looking a little bemused but pleased, Phoebe disappeared back into the hallway, medical examiner in tow and Tim's eyes lingering where she had been.

Wanda was still glaring at the cooler. "I just thought it'd be a little more impressive," she muttered.

"Well, you can't say it's not impressive," Arnold said. "Think of everything it can do!"

"Yes, _think_ ," Carlos said with a smirk. "With _your brain_."

Wanda just narrowed her eyes at him before answering Arnold. "I'm not saying that what the brain is capable of isn't really really cool, I'm saying that this dead brain looks no different than a picture in a book. Phoebe's diorama is way cooler."

"I be a real brain in action would be cooler," Ralphie said.

"Too bad the person has to be alive," Dorothy Ann said with a roll of her eyes. "Personally, I wouldn't volunteer to have my head cut open while I'm alive."

"But slicing and dicing is not the only way to see a brain doin' its thang!" Ms. Frizzle was standing among them, eyes bright with mischief. With a grand sweep of her arm, she called, "To the bus!"

Whoops and cheers broke out among the students as they swarmed for the door that led directly outside and to the busyard. It was a particularly convenient aspect of the jr. high school, having immediate access to the bus instead of needing to navigate the entire school for every field trip. Ms. Frizzle followed her class with a lazy grin, Dorothy Ann and Arnold by her side with identical frowns.

"What about Phoebe and Dr. Thinket?" Dorothy Ann asked.

Arnold nodded eagerly. "Yeah, shouldn't we wait for them to get back? And then stay in the classroom? Since Dr. Thinket was so considerate to bring us a brain from her work? In fact-"

A delicate hand landed on Arnold's shoulder, and the boy found himself staring into the brick wall that was Ms. Frizzle's determination. Voice sweet as honey, she told him, "Oh, I don't think they'll mind, Arnold." As everyone found a seat on their Magic School Bus, the doors slammed closed. "Seatbelts, everyone!"

But there was no need for the warning. Seven latches clicked around the bus, and more than one set of hands steadied a student on the seatback in front of them. With a series of honks, bangs, and crashes, the bus lifted off the pavement below and twisted itself as though made of fresh pretzel dough. Screams no longer paired with the transformations, but excited chatter hummed among the students as the world around them blurred into nothing.

* * *

Phoebe held open the door as Dr. Thinket backed into the classroom. "Thank you for your help."

"It's no problem," Dr. Thinket assured as she pulled a huge brain over the threshold. Three feet tall and almost just as wide, Phoebe's detailed clay and paper mache human brain had to be carted around on wheels. She had spent over a month working on the project, just after Ms. Frizzle had introduced the topic to them. Although she had initiated the project on her own because of her personal interest, the rest of her friends had taken turns helping her throughout. Tim in particular had played a huge part in much of the brain's design and execution. But even he hadn't seen the brain in over a week. Phoebe was looking forward to the class' reaction.

"Where might I put this beauty?" Dr. Thinket asked as the door swung shut.

"Uh..." Phoebe glanced around the room, vaguely wondering where her class might have gone. "How about near the front? That way everyone can see it next to the real brain for a comparison?" She shifted a few chairs to clear a path for Dr. Thinket then peered into the open cooler. "Wow, a real brain! It's beautiful!"

"I'm glad you think so!"

Glancing at her project, vibrantly colored and dramatically animated, Phoebe pursed her lips a bit. "My diorama doesn't really look like a real brain, does it?"

"Oh, but your work is exactly the sort of demonstrative model one needs when discussing the human brain!"

"It is?"

"Absolutely! Unless you could somehow swim around inside the juices as they flow through the brain while it's alive and working, a real human brain isn't quite as clear for educational purposes." Dr. Thinket scrunched her nose. "Too gray. Too boring."

Phoebe giggled, never noticing the microscopic, bright yellow school bus the size of a flea disappearing into her ear.

* * *

Speed was one of the Magic School Bus' specialties. Or at least it was if it had been to the shop recently, and Ms. Frizzle still hadn't removed the receipt from the dashboard from the previous week.

"Ya-hoo!"

Zooming through the clustered darkness of Phoebe's ear canal, Ms. Frizzle and her class watched as their friend's skull fast approached.

"We're gonna crash!" Ralphie screamed.

Dorothy Ann stood and pointed. "No we're not - look!"

The bus dove within inches of the stark white bone, twisting as it avoided a collision with-

"Is that Phoebe's spine?" Keesha asked as they tilted upward.

Ms. Frizzle nodded. "It certainly is. The spinal cord is the safest way to access a brain for our purposes. And here we are!"

Braking at the last second, the bus' tires landed on something soft and rose-gray, the same color as Ms. Frizzle's outfit.

"Welcome, class," Ms. Frizzle announced as she opened the bus doors. "Welcome to the human brain - in action!"

Clad in colorful suits not dissimilar to hazmat scrubs, the class unloaded, slipping as their feet touched the gooey surface below.

Carlos grabbed at Tim, bringing both boys crashing to the ground. Arnold offered a hand but only managed to add himself to the pileup. With a great heave, Ralphie, Keesha, and Wanda helped their friends regain their footing.

"Why is this place so slippery?" Carlos asked.

"It's...it's covered in blood," Dorothy Ann answered, fascinated. "Look, it's all coming from those veins protected by the spinal cord!"

"That's right, Dorothy Ann." With grace and not a slip to be seen, Ms. Frizzle joined her class. "We're standing at the very base of the brain, on what is often called the 'Reptilian Brain.'"

"What, so Phoebe's got part of a lizard's brain in here?"

"Oh no, Ralphie, nothing of the sort! The Reptilian Brain is simply that part of the brain that's in control of basic physical functions like breathing, coordination, and balance." Ms. Frizzle beamed, pointing. "Look, you can see it in action now!"

Deep below their feet, almost as though watching a light show under thick ice, flashes of electric pulses erupted all over. The class gasped.

"What is all that?" Tim asked.

"That would be the brain signaling to the rest of the body to move, to breathe!"

* * *

"And that's the Brain Stem," Phoebe said, pointing at the base portion of her diorama, a thin tube that dropped into the flat foundation. "I made it a dark green since it's usually called the 'Reptilian Brain.'"

Dr. Thinket laughed. "That's clever, my dear. I love all the colors you've used here! Especially all the different shade of blue for the Cerebrum and all its glorious sections."

"Well, since it's the largest part of the brain, I figured a primary color with a lot of different shade options would be best."

"True, but to think of it as a way to tie all the divisions together as a single unit while still showcasing the lobes...genius! You've done a fantastic job here."

Phoebe grinned shyly, pride swelling in her chest as she looked at her work. With a pleased sigh, she made to grab at the paper she had set on the desk but missed, dropping her arm into open air. Her knee crashed into the hard tile floor to break her fall.

"Ow!"

* * *

"Whoa, what's all that?" Carlos pointed to the frantically growing flash storm below their feet. Abruptly, a single bolt of lightning broke off and shot further into the brain above them.

Keesha asked, "Where's it going?"

"Only one way to find out!" Wanda declared, and she broke into a run, charging after the light.

"Onward, class!" Ms. Frizzle called, pointing after Wanda.

The class took off after the light and their friend. It wasn't as complicated as many expected, diving into the bulk of the brain directly. Pushing between a few squiggly, blood-soaked lumps, Wanda led the charge after the disappearing bolt of electricity. It weaved through the brain around them, zig-zagging throughout the waves of the Cerebrum, as Ms. Frizzle was quick to label.

"So," Dorothy Ann clarified, slightly breathless as she ran. "So the portion we came from is connected to the spinal cord and is called the Brain Stem, which has connections to part of the Cerebrum, the large top portion of the brain?"

"Then what's that littler part where we're headed?" Tim asked, pointing. It did seem as though the huge brain around them was going to give way to a tiny antechamber of sorts in a few microscopic yards.

"That's the Cerebellum," Arnold answered. "I remember because that was the part I helped Phoebe with on her diorama."

"So, the Brain Stem is for basic functions like movement and breathing," Ralphie said. "Then what do the Cerebrum and Cerebellum do?"

"Maybe higher-level thinking like math and stuff?" Carlos offered.

"That's the thinking for the Cerebrum," Ms. Frizzle said. "It gives you the ability to think, to speak, to draw conclusions, to imagine. The Cerebellum is similar to the Brain Stem in that it controls motor functions-"

"-but the Cerebellum helps with motor functions that we have to learn!" Dorothy Ann finished. "That's right, I remember! The Cerebellum is how we're able to walk without falling and grab things with our hands and whatnot!"

Ms. Frizzle sighed happily. "Oh, I do love it when you all do your homework."

As they quickly drew to the wall that separated them from the Cerebellum, Phoebe's brain above them began to explode with flashes of light. The chaos was reminiscent of a severe thunderstorm, and the students came to a stop as they watched with wide, interested eyes.

"What's going on with her brain?" Keesha asked.

"That's her Cerebrum, where we think and stuff, so...she must be thinking a lot right now," Carlos said slowly.

Wanda's voice cut across Arnold's reply. "Hurry, guys! That light just went into the Cerebellum! We've got to follow it!"

As they drew level with the wall, Ralphie frowned. "Didn't we just come from this way? The bottom of Phoebe's brain?"

"I don't think so," Keesha said from just behind him. "Not exactly, at least. The Brain Stem seems to go straight into the middle, but this part is more in the back, like at the base of her skull."

Wanda wasn't listening. In her quest to find the flash of light, she pressed boldly into the wall that kept her from it, squishing into a hidden seam that sucked her bodily away from the rest of the class. There was a muted splash.

"EW!" Wanda squealed.

Ralphie, hand pressed against the wall as he made to follow, froze. "What's 'ew?'" But the wall was faster than his hesitation, and Ralphie was quickly stolen from the group as Wanda had been. There was an identical splash, and then...

"EW!"

"I _told_ you."

"What's happening, guys?" Arnold called.

"I think Wanda found a brain swimming pool."

Five confused faces looked worriedly at one another. "What?"

"Just come on!" Wanda shouted. "It's not that gross once you get in!"

"That's not what I'd call reassuring," Dorothy Ann muttered. Carlos laughed.

Beyond the flooring of the Cerebrum was, for lack of a better word, a brain swimming pool. The classroom-sized area was filled waist-deep with a thick liquid that bordered between water and blood and hummed as though powered by Duracell. Arnold made a choking sound as he tried not to scream...too loudly.

"Ahhh! What _is_ this place?!"

With a series of splashes, the rest of the class crashed into the room. Last to arrive was Ms. Frizzle, who was beaming as though stepping onto a gorgeous beach in the middle of summer. "This is the Hypothalamus, Arnold."

"The hippo-what?"

" _Hy_ pothalamus, Carlos," Dorothy Ann corrected. "It's a region that controls body temperature, thirst, hunger, and other homeostatic systems."

"And that means what, exactly?" Wanda demanded.

Tim snapped his fingers. "It sounds like this place helps keep your body regulated overall. We're warm-blooded, so our temperatures are controlled by our brains, and that must happen here."

Keesha gasped. "So it must control everything else that needs to be kept at a certain level, too!"

Ms. Frizzle clapped her hands. "How perfectly balanced, class! Other things that this beautiful place helps to maintain are our sleep and emotional needs."

"Look!" Wanda called, pointing over everyone's heads. A clear film separated the Hypothalamus from the area beyond, an open theater-style space that looked as though the walls were lined with bookshelves. The light the class had been following fused into the clear veil. They watched as it raced along the rigid walls, spiraling the room twice before settling into a slot. The light flickered for a few more beats, then died.

"What just happened?"

"That area over there, Ralphie, is the Thalamus," Ms. Frizzle answered. "And while its functions are many, what we just witnessed was the reception of pain."

Tim straightened. "Pain? Is Phoebe hurt?"

* * *

"Are you alright?" Dr. Thinket asked Phoebe, hand on the girl's shoulder. "Your knee hit the floor pretty hard."

"I'm fine," Phoebe said tensely as she stood. "Just smarted. The pain's already going away."

"Is this what you were looking for?" Dr. Thinket was holding out a thick piece of sketch paper. "This is a remarkable drawing, Phoebe. You're quite the artist."

Smiling, Phoebe took the paper and sighed. "Oh, this wasn't me. Tim drew it."

"Oh, I know that look."

"What look?"

The medical examiner waggled her eyebrows, leaning in conspiratorially. "So...who's Tim?"

A deep flush filled Phoebe's face. "Just...just one of the kids in our class. He liked to draw and made me this picture of the brain to use for my project."

"I see. But you kept it, and you kept it in remarkably good condition."

"I-I-I-I'm just really careful, that's all."

"Phoebe." Dr. Thinket met the girl's eyes over her thick lenses. "Let me level with you for a moment."

* * *

"That light didn't last long once it hit the Thalamus," Keesha was saying as the class swayed in the thick fluids of the Hypothalamus. "So maybe the pain wasn't that bad?"

"Keenly deduced, Keesha!" Ms. Frizzle sang as she nudged Tim gently. "So relieve that worry, Tim. I would assume that our dear Phoebe likely just bumped into a desk or something just as minor."

"No need to go all knight-in-shining-armor today," Carlos teased, earning him an under-liquid kick to the shin from Tim.

"Ms. Frizzle," Ralphie began, looking thoughtful. "You said this place, the Hypothalamus, helps keep all our needs balanced out, like how hot or cold we are, if we need to eat or drink, if we need to sleep, that sort of thing, right?"

"Mmhm."

"You also said that this stuff can manage our emotional needs?"

"That would be correct."

"How are emotional needs as important as needing to eat?"

Dorothy Ann scoffed. "Only you would ask something like that."

"I'm serious!" Ralphie said defensively. "Everything else the Hypothalamus controls is pretty serious for our survival. Why are emotions in here?"

"Not emotions, Ralphie, but emotional _needs_ ," Ms. Frizzle corrected. "Emotions and emotional _memory_ , both of which are more closely linked to love in the more traditional sense, are located in the Amygdala. And that is directly below us."

Seven curious faces turned down. "Down there?"

At that moment, the liquid they were swimming in began to glow from the sheer force of the storm that was taking place far below their boots.

"Whoa."

"That, Tim, is exactly what I was talking about," Ms. Frizzle said with a soft smile. Her eyes twinkled, knowing more than she was willing to say out loud. "Whatever Phoebe may be doing at the present moment, her emotional memory is stirring wildly in her Amygdala."

"It's beautiful," Tim breathed. The rest of the class grinned silently at one another, stifling giggled when Tim looked around a second later with maroon in his cheeks. "Uh, I-"

Dorothy Ann suddenly shrieked, body swishing through the Hypothalamus liquid as she squirmed. "Did you guys see that?"

Emerging from the organic floor were three strange...goos. Thick like molasses and oozing into the pool around them, they were starkly colored against the muted reds, pinks, and grays of the brain. One of the goos, a toxic lime green, grazed Carlos' boot and sizzled.

"Let's get outta here!"

Frantic, the class hurried through the Hypothalamus liquid, weaving around the green, purple, and orange goo-vines that had now risen stiffly into the air. As Ralphie yanked Arnold back through the wall that led them into the Cerebrum, the columns of color connected with the ceiling and continued through. The class scrambled across the central strip of the Cerebrum, dodging the goos that had infiltrated the main brain and was rapidly spreading.

"What's happening?" Tim cried as they reached the bus and rushed inside. "What are those things? They're infecting Phoebe's brain!"

Ms. Frizzle just giggled. "Those are just chemicals. Serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin, to be precise. And they _are_ infecting Phoebe's brain, but it's nothing you all ought to worry about."

"So there's nothing we can do?" Keesha asked.

"Mm-mm." Ms. Frizzle shook her head as she steered the Magic School Bus upward, lifting the tires off of the rose-gray matter of Phoebe's brain and launching them into the void around it.

* * *

"Just think about it, Phoebe," Dr. Thinket was saying as Ms. Frizzle led the class back into the building.

"Just think about that, Dr. Thinket?" Tim asked.

Dr. Thinket tilted her chin upward a fraction at Phoebe. "I know you're a bit young to be thinking in such a way, but I believe it's never too early to learn that life is short and you should take it by the reins."

"She's absolutely right, you know," Ms. Frizzle added gently, placing a hand on Phoebe's shoulder. The class drew around the giant brain diorama.

"I-" But Phoebe's objection died in her throat as her eyes met with Tim's. Swallowing, she nodded to the two women before her and took a few steps in Tim's direction. Quietly, she said, "Tim...could I...could I talk to you...uh...alone?"

Brows furrowing, Tim nodded slowly. He following Phoebe into the hallway and closed the classroom door behind him just as the rest of the class began bombarding Dr. Thinket with questions, enthusiasm for her dead brain renewed.

"What's wrong, Phoebe?" Tim asked, remembering the chaos of those chemicals overtaking her brain just minutes before. Were they making her sick? Ms. Frizzle had said not to worry, but Tim couldn't help but wonder if those chemicals were doing _something_.

Phoebe didn't immediately answer. Wringing her hands together and licking her lips more than anyone would find necessary, her anxiety grew more and more obvious as the seconds passed.

"Phoebe?"

Exhaling, bringing herself still, Phoebe finally looked Tim in the eye. "I like you."

Tim felt his mouth fall open. Her couldn't help it - it was the absolute last thing he had expected...but the first thing he could have wanted.

"I-I-I-I'm sorry, that was really-"

"Don't be sorry, Pheeb," he interrupted, grinning. "I like you, too."

"But-no, Tim, I don't-I don't mean-I don't mean like friends or classmates or-"

"I know."

"-I'm talking like-wait. What?"

Tim chuckled and took a step closer, reaching out to take Phoebe's hand in his. Her fingers were warm as he wove them between his own. "I like you more than a friend, too. I...and if it's okay with you, now that we...now that we know...I'd like to officially call you my girlfriend."

Phoebe's face turned a brilliant shade of pink, but her lips were drawn back in a very relieved smile. She nodded quickly, giving Tim's hand - her _boyfriend's_ hand - a squeeze. "Okay. I'd like that."

Feet away, behind the thick classroom door, the rest of the class crowded together with their ears pressed against the wood.

"What are they saying?" Wanda hissed.

Arnold backed away first. "Maybe we're not supposed to hear."

"That's probably why they went into the hallway in the first place," Ralphie said.

Behind them, Ms. Frizzle and Dr. Thinket shared a look with barely-suppressed smiles. "Well, Ralphie, as I always say, private words are like brains - mysterious and better left alone."

The student groaned good-naturedly. "Ms. Frizzle!"

* * *

 _Wanda, Keesha, Ralphie, Carlos, Dorothy Ann, Arnold, Tim, and Phoebe  
Ms. Frizzle's class  
3-30-98_

 _"Liz? Liz?" The 'Magic School Bus' producer is late for something; he's put his shoes on the wrong feet and his hair is out of place as he tries to get the large chameleon's attention. But Liz is unbothered by the ringing cell phone on the kitchenette counter._

 _He stands and lunges for the phone but trips, crashing to the floor in a heap. Liz opens one eye. With a sigh, she reaches over and presses the 'answer' button on the producer's cell phone, turning it to the speaker mode._

 _"Hello?" comes a young voice. "Hello, is this the' Magic School Bus' show?"_

 _The producer pulls himself up over the counter, hair even more wild now. "Yes, sir, it is. What can I do for you?"_

 _"A lot! That show you did on the brain was seriously lacking!"_

 _The producer groans as he makes to straighten his hair in the mirror. "I know, I know, but we were a little pressed for time on this one. The brain is the most complicated organ in the human body. Even if we had a whole week of primetime, there's no way we'd be able to cover everything!"_

 _"That doesn't excuse how much you glossed over!"_

 _Hair in place, the producer then sits to fix the shoes he's only just noticed. "Maybe not. But we only can cover so much in such a short amount of time. What are we supposed to do?"_

 _"I don't know, maybe a movie!"_

 _Shoes on the correct feet, the producer chuckles. "Not a bad idea." He grabs a jacket, Liz, his car keys, the cell phone, then hurries out the door.  
_

 _"You could have at least gone over the cooler parts of the brain," the boy says, but he sounds less agitated as the producer climbs into his small car. "It's not just about the three big hunks of meat you covered."_

 _"You mean the Brain Stem, Cerebellum, and Cerebrum?"_

 _"Yeah! I mean, those are important, I know, but definitely not the most interesting part of the brain."_

 _"Oh, come on!" the producer says. "What's not to love about the basics? The Brain Stem controls automatic functions like breathing, swallowing, and blinking; the Cerebellum controls not-so-automatic functions like posture and balance-"_

 _"But it's the Cerebrum that's the most crucial part of your brain, where all the higher level thinking takes place! That's where a brain makes a person!"_

 _The producer pulls into a restaurant lot and parks his car. "I'd agree. We could have covered the most intricate parts of the Cerebrum, like how it's separated into two hemispheres, the left and the right. Each side is the control center for the opposite side of the body. And then the entire brain is again separated into four different lobes that manage a person's various processes."_

 _"What do you mean? The brain doesn't just do it all?"_

 _"Well, it does, it just has specific regions that carry out certain functions. For example, the Occipital Lobe, toward the back of your brain, interprets vision. Your Temporal Lobe is next, a bit more toward the center, and that part helps you understand language and recognize patterns. Above that lobe is the Parietal Lobe, where your brain gives language meaning and helps you have spacial awareness. And right in the front of your brain, just behind your eyeballs, is the Frontal Lobe, what many argue is the most important part of your brain."_

 _The boy gasps. "Behind my eyeballs?"  
_

 _"More or less," the producer laughs. "It's in your Frontal Lobe where the main aspects of what makes you..._ you _are kept. Your personality, behavior, a lot of your emotions, base intelligence, and judgement skills are maintained in your Frontal Lobe."_

 _"Wow!" For the first time in ten minutes, the boy is quiet. But only for a brief moment. "Now_ that _should've been in your show!"_

 _Glancing at his watch, the producer decides to wrap up the call. "I've got to go, I'm afraid. Anything else I can do for you?"_

 _"Yes, actually! What were those chemicals that Ms. Frizzle mentioned at the end?" The boy is annoyed again. "That was one whopper of a cliff hanger!"_

 _The producer climbs out of his car and makes for the restaurant, setting Liz on his shoulder as he pushes through the door and looks around. "Oh, that. Well, those three chemicals are the three main ones that make up the emotion of romantic love."_

 _"So the kids were seeing Phoebe's brain experience love?"_

 _"Bingo." The producer notices someone across the restaurant sitting alone at a small table. "Thanks for calling. Bye."_

 _He slips the cell phone into his pocket as he approaches an olive-skinned man about his own age reading through a menu. They share a smile as the producer draws closer and then drops into the empty chair. Liz uncurls from his neck and slithers onto the table, snagging a roll from the basket between them._

 _"Sorry to keep you waiting," the producer says, but his companion just waves his apology away._

 _"I know the calls never really stop," he says._

 _With a good-humored sigh, the producer says, "You have no idea."_


	5. The Magic School Bus Says Goodbye

**_Friday, May 26, 2000_**

Rhode Island Mays were often relatively chilly, but the last day of school for the Walkerville Independent School District was by all accounts a gorgeous on. Hovering around fifty degrees, barely a breeze, and the sun shining bright and uninhibited, the citizens of Walkerville were comfortable with pants and their lightest of jackets. Inside classroom 117 of the public junior high, however, most of the students had shed their longer sleeves for tee shirts by lunchtime.

Straining slightly, Wanda and Carlos worked together to haul a large box from the science counter to the floor. It landed with a thud, and the two preteens stood to stretch their sore muscles. Although only a quarter hour shy of one, Ms. Frizzle and her eight students had already spent hours packing up their classroom. Everyone's cheeks were flushed, hair roots damp, muscles Jell-O-y, all in their efforts to shove eight years of precious memories into cardboard boxes.

"Is that the last of it?" Arnold asked, walking by with a shoebox.

Carlos nodded. "I think so."

"Need any help, Arn?"

Arnold and Carlos shot similar confused looks at Wanda, who grimaced. Not bothering to explain herself, she turned and walked pointedly in a different direction. Carlos raised his brows at Arnold, but the redhead could only grin sheepishly in reply as he watched Wanda join Tim and Phoebe by the bare bookshelves.

Dorothy Ann met Arnold at the wall of stacked boxes that blocked the whiteboard. "I think we're finally finished."

"Thank goodness," Arnold said as he set down the shoebox. "I'm pooped."

"Class, you put professional movers to shame!" Ms. Frizzle sang, twirling in the large empty space where desks once stood. Her black dress fanned around her, exposing the combat boots that she had oddly paired with her black glove earrings. "Even on our final day, you all never cease to amaze me."

A sniffle came from the corner, quiet and subdued. Tim clasped Phoebe's hand and gave her a gentle squeeze as she hastily wiped her eyes. For most students, the final day of school was a reason to celebrate, the moment to which they all counted down. But for the Frizzle Elite, which none of them really liked being called, their final day of junior high was a black mark on their calendars.

Their last day with Ms. Frizzle.

For good.

Ms. Frizzle's serene smile faded into a frown, eyes understanding. "I know it's sad. I, too, am feeling the loss to come. But as we've seen going through our things today, we have only good memories to take with us into the unknown."

A tear fell onto Phoebe's cheek. Tim wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her into his side as he wiped the moisture away for her. Silence hung in the classroom. No one trusted themselves to speak for fear of being the first to truly break down.

With a bracing sigh, Ms. Frizzle said, "For now, class, let's have some familiar fun. Something akin to normalcy for the last couple hours we have together. Who's up for a little defense?"

Pleased smiles cut through the hurt that was taking hold of the students' faces. On the Friday that ended their first week of junior high two and a half years previous, Ms. Frizzle had decided that her students' physical education was lacking (or so she had claimed; most of the class was in agreement that the school board had to have stepped in). Far from the dodgeball-playing, wall-sitting, mile-running monotony of the school's P.E. class, however, Ms. Frizzle and her students had agreed that self-defense and all its forms was a far better use of their final period of each and every day.

The class quickly changed into their shorts, tee shirts, and tennis shoes, then formed a semi-circle around Ms. Frizzle. All signs of fatigue were gone as the class downed their pre-workout waters that Ms. Frizzle religiously provided and enforced.

"Stretches!"

They were seamless. Letting their muscles guide them, the class moved in unison. They pulled their arms across their chests, clasped their hands and twisted, grabbed their toes, lunged as far as they could, contorted and pushed their limbs to the point just beyond comfortable flexibility with practiced ease.

"Alright, now let's pair off," Ms. Frizzle said after several minutes. "Let's do a couple rounds of partners today, shall we? Let's start off with A Partners, and we'll let the boys defend first."

It was their most common division. Carlos and Phoebe faced one another nearest the wall, Arnold and Keesha were beside them, then came Ralphie and Dorothy Ann, and closest to the door stood Tim and Wanda. Of the eight students, Carlos hated this arrangement the most, and he hated it for all the reasons everyone else hated being paired with Phoebe - she was the sweetest, nicest, most innocent creature on the face of the earth, and he was expected to bodily throw her to the floor or kick her in the kidney.

"And begin!"

Carlos immediately bent his knees, stepping back with his right foot to brace himself as he brought his hands just below the center of his face. He heard three other scuffles already in progress to his left, but Carlos watched as Phoebe simply stood there. She yawned.

"You tired?" he asked.

"Aren't you?"

"Well, yeah, but-" Carlos stopped short as Phoebe suddenly lunged at him, hands outstretched for his face with speed that no longer surprised him. He easily batted her hands out of the way, but his face wasn't her primary goal.

The heel of Phoebe's sneaker smacked the side of Carlos' knee, gentle enough not to hurt but still off-footing him. Though he stumbled slightly, Carlos was able to land a few gentle blows to Phoebe's side before finding his balance and thrusting a sharp elbow straight up, aiming for her nose.

He froze just short.

"Awh, I thought for sure I'd have gotten you by surprise!" Phoebe whined.

Carlos groaned. "Phoebe, you're not supposed to stop. We're supposed to keep going until the whistle."

"But you'd have broken my nose just now. I think if I were a real attacker, that'd stop me from fighting anymore."

"Mm, don't be so sure, Phoebe," Ms. Frizzle said. She blew her whistle, and all movement stopped. To the room at large, she said, "It's important to always assume that an attacker won't let up. But, ode to Phoebe, should you happen to break a nose or find an equally distracting opportunity to take, that isn't a bad time to turn tail and run."

There was a wave of light laughter.

"How about we mix it up a bit? Give you kids a defense practice like never before to really use those skills?" Her eyes and earrings lit up. "To the bus!"

Were they surprised? Almost never anymore. Were they thrilled? Absolutely. The class rushed out the door and onto their trust Magic School Bus, sneakers squeaking on the floorboards and they hurried to sit. Ms. Frizzle floated her way inside, slamming the doors behind her with an excited smile.

"Seatbelts, everyone!"

It was unnecessary, though. Everyone was already latched safely as Ms. Frizzle buckled herself up and began pressing a quick succession of buttons on the dash. A cool hiss circulated the bus' cabin, and several of the students' ears popped when the bus launched straight into the air at top speed. Arnold smashed Wanda against the window of their seat as the bus began to spin like a top, making them both blush loud enough to elicit a snicker from Carlos, who was nearly falling into the aisle beside them. Dorothy Ann smacked his arm as best she could from her own angle on the seat behind him.

Just as always, the bus froze without warning.

"I know I say this a lot," Ralphie said as she unbuckled and stood up. "But one of these days I'm actually going to be sick."

Keesha rolled her eyes from the same seat. "I don't think you've ever been sick, Ralphie. You're all talk."

"I am not! I could prove it to you and ruin your shirt."

"I dare you."

"You better be careful, Keesh, or-"

"And here we are!" Ms. Frizzle interrupted dreamily, twisting in the driver's seat to look at her students.

"Where are we?" Phoebe asked, looking out the window.

Dorothy Ann pulled at her new shirt. "And what are we wearing?"

Ms. Frizzle hummed once. "Those, class, are sweatsuits made from a specialty material, something not sold in stores, you could say. It's extremely lightweight but durable, very similar to the idea behind spider silk."

Indeed, the eight students were clad in identical sweatpants and shirts along with springy running shoes and thick fingerless gloves. The wardrobe change wasn't at all unusual - it wasn't that often they _didn't_ end up in a more appropriate outfit for their field trips - but it was the first time that they were all in the same color.

"Today's field trip is going to be a teensy weensy bit...different."

That caught everyone's attention. "Different?" they echoed.

"Mmhmm." Quickly punching a few more buttons on the dash, Ms. Frizzle's voice was as sweet as always. "Most of your fellow eighth-graders are spending their last day of school finalizing tests to see that they are fit to properly assimilate into high school. We've always done things on our own path, but there is a certain need to checkmark that your students are prepared for...the next phase of their training."

The bus rumbled and whirred beneath them, and Arnold pressed into Wanda's side with a shiver. She patted his back awkwardly.

"Oh, but that's no reason to fret, Arnold. This isn't a real test that you have to study for. This is a test of how much you all have grown into the amazing, wonderful people you are meant to become!" Ms. Frizzle exhaled blissfully. "Ahh, class, I think you're really going to love it."

Tim frowned. "Love what? The test?"

There was a beat of silence. Then, "Righty-o, Tim. You all are going to enjoy your next challenge. All you have to do is reach the other side. Now...disembark!"

The bus doors flew open. The class filed out, Carlos in the lead, into a well-lit garage entrance of an enormous, cavernous, crate-filled, barely-lit warehouse. Everyone's mouths fell open at the sheer vastness of it.

Ms. Frizzle stood just by the driver's seat inside the bus. "I'll be waiting for you at the opposite garage entrance, and then we'll all enjoy some banana splits back at the school! Take care now!"

The doors slammed. It was only then that the class realized that they had actually stepped out of the bus and _into_ the warehouse. The garage opening dropped from its latches above, instantly trapping the bus and Ms. Frizzle outside. Darkness swallowed the class, and Phoebe shrieked.

Wanda slapped a hand over Phoebe's mouth. "Shhh! What is the matter with you? We don't know where we are or what could be in here!"

"Why are you whispering?" Ralphie asked, also whispering. "Ms. Frizzle wouldn't have left us somewhere dangerous."

"She's also never left us alone, either," Arnold said. The eight students were ducking into a huddle, voices quiet in the dark to which they were slowly growing accustomed.

Dorothy Ann rolled her eyes. "She probably hasn't really left us alone. The bus is only on the other side of that door," she said, pointing to the garage door. "And I bet she'll be watching us. Otherwise, how is it a test?"

"Maybe she just wanted from time for herself and dumped us here," Carlos joked.

Everyone glared at him.

Wanda sighed. "Well, regardless of all that, we ought to find the other garage entrance and get outta here. I want ice cream!"

"Come on, it can't be as easy as just walking through all these crates," Keesha said. "Otherwise, why bother?"

"Maybe..." Phoebe furrowed her brows. "She brought us here because we were doing our defense training. Maybe this is supposed to be a self-defense test?"

"Maybe, but how?" Arnold asked. "She doesn't really expect us to fight each other for real, does she? She wouldn't actually put us in danger."

"I wouldn't be so sure," said a deep voice in the darkness.

The eight preteens started violently, instinctively bunching together as they turned in the direction of the voice. A short but sturdy figure stood just outside the dim light they were using. A booted foot stepped forward, leading a frightening man into the open. No taller than Ralphie, who who towered over the rest of the class at around five-nine, the man was clearly nothing but surging muscle beneath taut skin. Arnold and Phoebe whimpered. Wanda took a half-step forward, slightly in front of her more frightened friends.

"Who are you?" she asked. She sounded much braver than she felt.

"The beginning of your test." The man smirked, and then he lunged.

He was faster than he looked, only giving Wanda just enough time to throw her hands up and spread her feet to stabilize before he was on her. But his hands betrayed his plan, and Wanda ducked to the left as his fist thrust to meet her face. But his fists kept flying, moving just a quarter of a second slower than Wanda could dodge them.

The rest of the group had scattered but not for cover. Carlos and Arnold circled behind the man the moment they could, leaping onto his back with arms around his neck to drag him down. It hardly phased the man as he continued to drive Wanda to a nearby corner, something she was sure wouldn't do her any favors.

"Carlos, keep your feet still!" Dorothy Ann suddenly cried.

Confused but trusting, Carlos did as he was told, and after a split second, Dorothy Ann and Ralphie grabbed his ankles and began pulling with everything they had. Their weight finally slowed the man, just enough for him to turn his attention away from Wanda long enough for her to swipe out and land her hardest punch on his nose. He stumbled marginally under the weight of four preteens and his hit, balance compromised. As he began to falter, Wanda, Tim, and Phoebe kicked out to sweep his feet from under him. The class released him as he rather abruptly fell head-first into a high stack of wooden crates and watched in horror as the topmost one fell directly on him.

The sound of his skull being crushed between the crate and the cement floor echoed unnaturally in the huge space. Even though the crate slid off of him, he didn't move.

"Oh my gosh," Phoebe gasped. "Did...did we kill him?"

"Do you really care?" Keesha asked, incredulous. "He tried to hurt Wanda!"

"Of course I care!" Phoebe said shrilly. "I...I don't want to be a murderer!"

"Wait, guys," Dorothy Ann interrupted. She was walking over to the fallen man.

Carlos reached out and grabbed her wrist. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Look at his head."

Phoebe covered her eyes. "Oh no, I can't look! How bad is it?" Hands shaking slightly, Tim pulled her into his chest.

"No, it's not like that," Dorothy Ann said. She glanced at Carlos' hand on her wrist, and he dropped it hastily. After a second, she pointed to the man for the rest of the group. "Look at it. There are...lights."

"Lights?" Wanda was the first to hurry over, eager to inspect. Her voice was full of wonder a moment later. "Guys, he's a robot!"

"A robot?"

The rest of the group clustered around the man, eyes wide and pulses still racing. Indeed, there was a sizable slice down the length of his bald head, which looked slightly bulbous up close. Inside the wound were criss crossing wires, blinking lights, a sliver of what looked like a chipboard.

Ralphie burst out laughing. "Of _course_ there are robots in here! She's expecting us to use our self defense to get to the exit, but Ms. Frizzle wouldn't send real people for us to try and hurt!"

"So...so we didn't hurt anyone?" Phoebe asked quietly.

Keesha gave her friend's shoulder a squeeze. "Nope! It looks like we're fighting robots, Phoebe."

Smiles spread around their group, tensions eased. It was just another field trip. Ms. Frizzle was likely watching them now, admiring her students as they figured out her test as the team they so seamlessly were. Wanda turned from the robot first.

"Alright, guys, let's do this!" she cried, taking off toward a shadowy aisle. Ralphie, Keesha, and Arnold were right behind her, Tim and Phoebe hurrying after with their hands clasped between them. Dorothy Ann lingered by the robot-man, looking at the exposed circuitry.

"Hey, you coming?" Carlos asked.

"I feel like something's off."

"Yeah, this whole field trip is off."

"No, not the field trip," Dorothy Ann said, frown deepening. "This robot. It was awfully life-like, don't you think?"

"Well, yeah. But technology is just getting better and better, you know that."

"Maybe..."

"D.A.! Carlos!" Tim called. "A little help?"

The two looked up then, realizing that there were sounds of feet fast on the floor, skin thudding against skin, gasps for breath, and straining grunts just down the aisle where their friends had fled. Dorothy Ann and Carlos ran together to help, life-like robot forgotten as they joined the others.

They didn't see the man carefully pull himself up and carefully, painfully, remove the thin helmet painted to look like his bald head. The connectors and makeup tore from his short hair, and the prop with the fake circuitry crunched as he crammed it into the largest pocket of his cargo pants. It was no longer important. It had fooled the students, given them the permission they required to attack with their fullest force.

Fifty feet away, down the narrow gap between the towering rows of stacked crates, Ms. Frizzle's class was letting that permission spur their confidence. Two women and a man, all dressed similarly in slate-gray tracks that snugly covered everything but their faces, were keeping the class from continuing onward. Wanda, Arnold, and Phoebe were taking on one of the women, thick with muscle and faster than lightning; Ralphie and Keesha were boxing with the man that had fists as large as their heads; poor Tim was literally hanging on the back of the second woman, who was easily over six feet tall and had a face like a fox. Dorothy Ann and Carlos blanched at the sight.

"Sorry, Tim!"

Dorothy Ann slid the final few strides, striking the woman's ankles feet-first. It caught her by surprise and brought the towering woman crashing to the floor. Carlos grabbed Tim on the descent to keep him from being smashed like a grape. Flashing Carlos a grateful smile, Tim brought his heel down on the woman's temple as she tried to stand. There was an eerily-organic thud, but Dorothy Ann, Carlos, and Tim didn't notice in the chaos as they hurried away from what they were certain was a defeated robot.

 _Thank god this hood has a helmet_ , the woman thought behind closed eyes. Her head was already throbbing.

* * *

Close to an hour later, the class reached the other garage entrance. Phoebe was limping slightly and Carlos kept rotating his shoulder with a grimace, but otherwise they all felt that they had passed Ms. Frizzle's test with flying colors. Their specialty material suits were clinging hopelessly to their sweat-soaked bodied, their hair was sodden and flat against their heads, their faces were varying shades of red, their moths were all hanging open as they gasped for air. But when Ms. Frizzle, who had the garage open and was waiting in the bright sunlight, asked her students, "How was it?" not a single one of them didn't grin like a fool.

"That...was...epic!" Ralphie panted.

The rest of the class nodded, too tired to elaborate. But Ms. Frizzle understood. Her pride was evident on her face, pulling everything tight as she beamed down at her students, her children. "You all did so well! Now...how about that ice cream?"

"And...how about...a shower?" Keesha asked. The class laughed weakly as they boarded the bus.

Everyone was careful not to let their eyes close on the transformation back to Walkerville Middle School. Once they were securely parked with both wheels on the pavement just outside the classroom, Ms. Frizzle led her troops back inside.

All the exhilaration from their field trip, all the fun that had while putting their defensive skills to the ultimate test and excelling beyond their wildest dreams, all the adrenaline that had been coursing through their young veins when they had seen the exit...vanished at the sight of the packed away classroom. The desks were stacked Tetris-style against the far wall, blocking how bare at least one of the four walls was. The mass of boxes were gone, likely taken by someone Ms. Frizzle knew while they were at the warehouse.

Eight years. Gone.

"Come, my young troops!" Ms. Frizzle called, using her favorite endearment when they were practicing defense. In the center of the room on the floor were nine perfect banana splits, arranged in a circle. "Have a seat, and let's enjoy the last of our time together."

Wanda collapsed first, snatching her ice cream up and stuffing a bite in her mouth. "This is really going to hit the spot after that test, Ms. Frizzle."

"Yeah, thanks a bunch!" Ralphie said, dropping beside her.

Ms. Frizzle joined the circle between Dorothy Ann and Phoebe. "It was no trouble at all, class. So, tell me, did you enjoy the warehouse? I see no one was seriously maimed by the competition."

Carlos snorted. "Not seriously, maybe, but I won't be able to pitch for baseball tryouts. I'll have to hope my batting is good enough."

"Well, you shouldn't have tried to grab a moving target," Keesha said.

"How was I supposed to know that robot would turn and run behind me?"

"Part of being a good defender is being able to read what your opponent is planning to do," Wanda said. "Right, Ms. Frizzle?"

Ms. Frizzle nodded. "Oh, yes. But sometimes even the best of predictions can go awry."

"To be honest, Carlos, I think you got lucky," Tim said. "Robots can be really strong and fast. It could've taken your arm out of its socket."

"I don't know, I think if a bunch of kids were able to take out as many as we did, they weren't programmed strong enough or fast enough," Ralphie said. Then he shot a sheepish smile at Ms. Frizzle. "No offense."

"Oh, none taken, Ralphie, believe me." Her smile was genuine, and Ralphie relaxed. "Tell me, class, how did it feel knowing how capable you all actually are in the face of physical danger?"

"Well..." Phoebe began thoughtfully. "I had trouble at first. Mostly because those robots were so realistic! I didn't like the thought that I was hurting a real person. But once I was able to move past that..."

"It felt awesome is what she's trying to say," Wanda finished. The class laughed.

Phoebe was nodding. "It really did, though! We live in a really safe town, but now I know that no matter what happens, I'll be able to protect myself and the people that I love." Her eyes met Tim's from across the circle. A gentle intimacy fluttered across the space between them, and Ralphie pretended to gag.

Keesha rolled her eyes. "It's true. I loved practicing as much as everyone else, but taking that test made me realize that I actually learned something!"

"Yeah, it's a skill I'd like to keep," Dorothy Ann said.

"And keep, you shall," Ms. Frizzle said, finishing her ice cream. "You might have to keep up a practice regime in my absence, but I have faith that if any teenagers could do it, you all could."

"Speaking...of your...absence..." Arnold swallowed. "Since we're all going to be put back with the other kids-"

"'Assimilating back into the public school curriculum,'" Dorothy Ann corrected.

Arnold nodded. "Right, that. Since that'll be us...what will you be doing, Ms. Frizzle? Will you still teach?"

"I think after leading you all for the past eight years, I couldn't possibly teach another set of students so soon," she said. For the first time that day, her voice betrayed a hint of sadness, regret. "I have plans to take a bit of a reprieve from the public school system. The bus and I will be getting the break neither of us really want, preparing for the next generation of the country's brightest minds."

It wasn't really any answer, yet no one felt inclined to push their precious teacher into a concrete reply. They had long ago accepted Ms. Frizzle for the chaos that she inherently was. The emotion behind the vague words was enough for them.

They fell into a comfortable silence then. Finishing all their banana splits, stretching their exhausted muscles, cooling themselves under the AC vents, the class simply basked in the familiarity of family they had forged. Tim scribbled a final assignment and passed it around to the others, who all read it, nodded, and signed their name at the top before Keesha finally set it next to Ms. Frizzle's purse. It wasn't until the final bell rang about twenty minutes later that any of them finally spoke again.

"Oh, dear," Ms. Frizzle said, her usual sing-song voice much less lively. "It's time, class."

She swept open her arms, almost looking as though in surrender. Without a word, the eight students came forward and crammed themselves into the space between her arms, pressing tight against each other in an oversized group hug. Phoebe was already crying. Ms. Frizzle tried to comfort her in the mass of bodies and was only able to give her a slight pat on the cheek.

"There, there, Phoebe, my dear. This may be good-bye for now, but this is hello to the future," Ms. Frizzle's eyes were moist, too. "You all have my personal number and are welcome to call it any time, and my door is always open to you. But the world outside awaits you. I cannot contain the brilliance that you eight are, both as individuals and as a group. As sad as it is to say farewell now, as terribly as I will miss each and every one of you, I know we will meet again soon. Whether it's this weekend simply because you wanted to see Liz one last time or it's in a few years at your graduation, I know this isn't truly goodbye. You all have done so many amazing things already, and I cannot wait to see what other amazing things you all will do for your country...your world."

No one was spared. As Ms. Frizzle stopped speaking, all eight preteens were sniffling, tears streaming down their cheeks. But the second bell rang for the bus riders and the spell had to be broken. The principal had made a clear announcement earlier that morning about the school needing to be emptied of all persons as quickly as possible for its annual bug-bombing. They had to leave.

"We're never going to forget you, Ms. Frizzle," Wanda sobbed as Arnold led her away by the hand, mopping his eyes with his sleeves.

"Thanks for everything," Keesha and Carlos called from the door as they followed Ralphie, guiding Dorothy Ann by her shoulders as she cried into her hands.

Tim and Phoebe were last to step into the hallways, fingers intertwined and lips quivering. Phoebe stopped for one final look back at Ms. Frizzle, who was smiling through her own silent tears in the middle of the classroom. Right where they had left her.

"We love you," Phoebe whispered.

And then they were gone.

It wasn't like that first day. When Valerie Frizzle had finally found herself alone after that first day with eight squeaking six-year-olds, the smile had slid off her face and a guilty relief overcame her. Before that day, she had only known what little of children that could be conveyed in textbooks. But now, eight and a half years later, Valerie Frizzle felt the icy clutches of sorrow grip her by the chest and threaten to consume her. She loved those kids.

Reeling herself in, at least enough to make it to the bus, Valerie bent to grab her purse and saw the single piece of paper that was the class' last homework assignment. It was a running theme, the class writing a narrative that covered some of the key points their rather fast-paced field trips sometimes missed on the topics at hand. She brought the paper up to her face and quickly read it:

 _Tim, Phoebe, D.A., Wanda, Carlos, Ralphie, Arnold, and Keesha  
Ms. Frizzle's class  
5-26-00_

 _The producer is standing in his office, where he's taken hundred of calls from fans of the hit series, 'The Magic School Bus.' It's cleaner than it's ever been, mostly because it's almost entirely empty. The desk is barren except for a single paper box. The walls are littered with fine pinpricks from almost a decade of pushpins. The floor is as open as a dance floor. The windows no longer had curtains to block the light that's heating the carpet._

 _The phone, however, is still plugged in and begins to ring._

 _"You've got to be joking," the producer groans._

 _There's another voice, just as familiar, coming from just outside the open door. "Technically, you're not off for another five minutes. Did you really think you'd get off so easy?"_

 _The producer's companion steps into the office, dressed just as comfortable as the producer - shorts and tennis shoes, ideal for moving day. Liz is draped across his shoulders, dozing. The producer answers the phone._

 _"Hello? 'Magic School Bus,' producer speaking."_

 _"Don't you mean 'former producer?'" says a young girl._

 _"I take it you just watched our final episode?"_

 _"I did, and I just have to say-"_

 _"Don't tell me." The producer wipes his brow, wet from all the heavy lifting they've been doing. "You didn't think the violence was appropriate?"_

 _The girl scoffs. "I don't know if I'd call knocking a few robots to the floor 'violence.'"_

 _"Oh," the producer says, surprised. "Well, I'm glad you didn't think so. Then what's on your mind?"_

 _"I just wanted to say that I think you did a great job."_

 _At that, the producer's jaw drops. "I'm sorry, what?"_

 _"I think you did a great job with the final episode," the girl confirms. "It was kind and heartfelt without overdoing the goodbyes. You showed the class and Ms. Frizzle as a family, which is what they are. I don't think some sappy hour-long special of everyone crying at the wheels of the school bus would have fit the kids very well. And I don't think Ms. Frizzle would have wanted that."_

 _"I...well...thank you. Thank you very much!"_

 _"Well, of course! You earned it! Bye!"_

 _The girl hangs up, but the producer is still in shock. His companion comes over and hangs up the phone for him._

 _"That bad of a caller, hm?" he asks sympathetically._

 _The producer shakes his head. "Not at all. She said I did a great job."_

 _"No way."_

 _"Serious."_

 _The other man laughs, his smile bright as he claps the producer on his shoulder. "That's fantastic! Congratulations! First satisfied customer in, what? Eight years?"_

 _"Eight years." The producer looks around the room and sighs. "Eight long years, all over now."_

 _"The show had an amazing run. Not too many educational shows can say that they made new material for eight straight years with no breaks."_

 _"No, I suppose not." Smile creeping on his face, the producer says, "Well, let's get this last box and lock up. I'm ready for my retirement. A quiet, easy life."_

 _The other man rolls his eyes as he and Liz grab the keys. "Life is rarely calm for know that. Besides, we're still young. Lots of chaos ahead of us."_

 _Grabbing the last box from his desk - his_ old _desk - the producer nods. "At least we've got each other for when the chaos returns, right?"_

 _"Right."_

 _Smiling at one another, keys and chameleon and boxes in hand, the producer and his companion close the door on the office. Though the sunlight still warms the carpet through the window, the room now lacks the warmth of life. 'The Magic School Bus' is just a fantastic, beautiful memory._

Valerie was smiling by the end of the second paragraph, and by the end of the short paper she had fresh tears pushing on her eyelashes. The kids loved writing about 'their' producer. There had been two early on, when Wanda had been determined to grow up and be a television producer herself, but the woman producer dropped away as the students became more of a unit. They had created a unique character for the sake of enjoying their homework assignment, and Valerie was going to miss the producer and his companion.

"Any students, faculty, or staff that is still in the building," the principal, Dr. Steppup, announced over the intercom, "the pest control company has arrived and will begin setting up the necessary equipment for the fumigating in ten minutes. Please leave the school grounds at this time, please, and have a great summer."

The school bus wasn't quite as magical when it was just Valerie. The keys went into the ignition, the engine rumbled as it turned over, the doors had to be manually closed. Valerie pulled the bus out onto the alley that would lead her away from the main road that was clogged with last-day-of-school traffic. The brakes squeaked as she pulled up to a stop sign a few hundred feet later. The check-engine light came on, and Valerie tried to remember when the last oil change had been.

Admittedly, a break from the magical facade would be nice. But while this might be a break for her, Valerie knew that this was just the beginning of the next phase for her now-former students. High school would be interesting for them for a number of reasons, and Valerie was sad that she would never be allowed to initiate contact with them.

Her orders were clear.


	6. Chapter 1

**_Monday, May 12, 2003  
morning_**

Ralphie rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers as he merged for the upcoming turn. The junior high whizzed past his window. The clock read 7:28. D.A. was going to be pissed.

"Don't worry," Wanda said from the passenger seat. "We're basically there. We'll make it."

"I'm not worried about being late," Ralphie said as he pulled into the high school's parking lot. "I'm just not looking forward to D.A.'s attitude about it."

"Yeah, well, she'll get over it."

"Besides," Tim added, shifting forward from the back seat, "I feel like this meeting is just including us on principle. They don't really need much of our input."

Wanda nodded as Ralphie pulled into a parking space. "Yeah, Walkerville has done their graduations mostly the same way every year for decades. They probably just want to bore us all to death over the order of speeches and a list of special accommodations."

Ralphie pointedly yawned. He personally didn't care _how_ graduation happened so long as it happened. He and the Frizzle Elite, as he and the others really hated to be called, were graduating a full year early after knocking out the majority of their high school credits the summer before their sophomore year. With more than enough college credits already under all of their belts for a jumpstart on universities that fall, Ralphie and his friends were quite agreed in their readiness to be done with the public school system.

Not that high school had been awful. They all had joined in different sports, clubs, band, and athletics that quickly included them, but switching from eight years of learning with Ms. Frizzle to the public high school had left them all incredibly bored. The ensuing moves to take credit tests and passing two grades over a single summer hadn't helped things for any of them. All eight of them had suffered a fair amount of teasing that second year.

"Looks like one of the seniors got a new car," Wanda said, nodding her head as she came to Ralphie's side. He turned to look past Tim on his other side.

"It must be a hand-me-down," Ralphie snorted. "Look how banged up it is."

"That window tint can't be legal," Tim said. "You can't even see which idiot is driving it."

"Eh, that's their problem. Let's go, it's already 7:30."

Ralphie groaned. And sure enough, as they strolled into the principal's office at 7:32, D.A. turned to scowl at them.

"Sorry we're late," Tim said, dropping into the chair next to her. He looked across the large conference table and flashed a sheepish smile at the adults.

Ralphie rolled his eyes. They were only two minutes late.

The principal, a middle aged man that looked sixty, waved his hand. "No worries, we're only just getting settled ourselves. Have a seat and we can begin."

Purposely choosing to sit as far from D.A. as possible, Ralphie made himself comfortable in one of the nice chairs that surrounded the table. They were surprisingly well-preserved for a state building, but then again, how often really would a high school principal use all twelve of the chairs in his personal conference room? As the senior counselor started a run-through of the graduation itinerary, Ralphie tried not to let his eyelids fall closed as his attention immediately began to wander.

He had loved being the senior class vice-president. Really, he had. But he was really looking forward to being done with such meetings, which had only become more frequent as the year drew to a close. Ralphie nodded vaguely when he heard his name, making glazed eye contact with the superintendent, wishing he could be sleeping.

Graduation was only about three full weeks away which was thrilling, expect that it meant most of the school's extracurriculars were finished for the year. Baseball hadn't surpassed the state competitions; track hadn't even reached regionals. Hell, even the academic competitions had finished. After the social outcasting of their sophomore year, Ralphie had tried not to rejoin the English team, but his scores were too high to argue against it. He made great strides in front of his sports buddies not to draw attention to his success there, but as Ralphie nodded again at his name on the school board representative's lips, he even wished that was still active. Anything to take up the mind-numbing existence that was apparently a regular education.

An elbow dug in his ribs then, and Ralphie grunted as he sat up straighter. "What was that for?" he hissed at Wanda.

"The meeting's over, Ralphie."

Looking around, he realized that everyone but Wanda and him was standing. The adults were looking pleased, murmuring among themselves as the principal opened the door for D.A. and Tim, who were already walking away. Ralphie hurried to his feet.

"Thank you for your time, kids," the principal said as they walked past. He patted Ralphie's shoulder. "We're looking forward to the ceremonies this year and appreciate your thoughts."

"Uh...right." Trying not to look too guilty, Ralphie scurried after his friends. He caught up quickly. "So...how was the meeting?" he asked with a grin.

Wanda chuckled. D.A.'s back was to him, but Ralphie knew she was pursing her lips, furious. Her ponytail was practically electrified.

Tim answered him. "Well, the only thing really of note is that you're going to be making a speech."

"What?!" Ralphie shouted. His stomach churned.

"Yeah, since you're the vice-president."

"Wh-what? Wanda's the president, why isn't she making a damn speech?"

Wanda shrugged as his wild-eyed look. "The guy from the school board said something about it being more traditional for the vice-president to give a speech. They hadn't done it in several years and wanted to try again, and D.A. agreed."

"Are you serious, D.A.?" Ralphie growled. She didn't turn around, shoulders stiff. "You just agreed me to that because we were late, didn't you? It was two minutes!"

At that, she stopped walking and whipped around, the tips of her ponytail tickling Ralphie's nose. She crossed her arms. "No, I actually agreed with him. It _is_ traditional."

"But who cares if it's traditional?"

"It's not just that, but you delivering the speech would be good overall since you're so popular. The student body will respond better to you than to Wanda. No offense," she added, glancing at Wanda, who shrugged.

"But...but I'll have to talk. In front of people. A _lot_ of people."

"You've been in plays and given speeches before, Ralphie."

"Yeah, but not to a crowd of what's going to probably be a thousand or more people! Most of who will be taping the whole thing!"

" _Besides_ ," D.A. gritted, "everyone loves you. Even people that hate you love you. No matter what you do on stage, you're going to be adored."

"Just because people don't like _you_ because you're always bossing them around doesn't mean you had the right to sign me up for a huge speech!" Ralphie snapped. Instant regret flooded him.

D.A.'s eyes widened and her scowl slackened. Her arms dropped from her chest as she stared at him, eyes wounded. Tim and Wanda made little sounds of exasperation just behind him, and Ralphie wished they wouldn't. He knew he went too far.

"D.A., I-I-I didn't-"

The spell broke, and a swift wall flew up her face as D.A.'s jaw locked. "If you had just been paying attention in the meeting, you could have objected to the speech yourself." And she turned to storm down the adjacent hallway.

Groaning, Ralphie let his head fall back as far as it would go.

"Why'd you have to say that?" Wanda asked. "You know how sensitive she is about how people treat her."

"I didn't think," Ralphie said as he lifted his head. His eyes found D.A. further into the hallway, near her locker. Carlos closed his own locker a few down from her and walked up, brows dropped as he spoke to her. After a second, he looked up and locked eyes with Ralphie. Carlos widened his eyes theatrically with a shake of his head, echoing without words what Wanda had just said.

Ralphie sighed. This was going to be a long Monday.

"You know," Tim said as he took a few steps past Ralphie, eyes sympathetic, "if you really don't want to do the speech, you could always go talk to the principal alone."

"I know..."

"And you have to tell D.A. you're sorry."

"I will," Ralphie said wearily. "Once she's cooled off a bit, I'll talk to her."

Giving Ralphie a friendly nod, Tim made his way into the throng of students buzzing around them. Wanda disappeared too, and Ralphie wanted nothing more than to get back in his car and go home for some sleep. Guilt always made him feel ill. He knew as well as the rest of them how much D.A. hated that she seemed to put their peers off with her intensity. She didn't need him reminding her.

But still, now he had to give a stupid speech at graduation.

* * *

 ** _Monday, May 12, 2003  
_** ** _afternoon_**

Dorothy Ann didn't enjoy her advanced chemistry class as much as she normally did. Although Ralphie had apologized to her just before lunch, sounding far more genuine than he usually did when he was within earshot of his baseball buddies, it didn't change the fact that he had been right. As much as she loved her order, her perfection, Dorothy Ann hated how much of a bossy know-it-all she was more.

"Hey, D.A., wait up!"

Slowing to a stop just outside the classroom, leaning close to the wall as the crowd of teenagers swarmed around her, Dorothy Ann smiled when Arnold reached her.

"You forgot your pen," he said, handing it to her.

"Oh, thank you."

"No problem." He led them into the stream, eyes on her as she followed. After a moment, he nudged her gently with his shoulder. "You okay? You seemed distracted in class today."

"It's nothing, it's just...Ralphie-"

Arnold scoffed. "Just ignore him. He might have as many credits as we do and be graduating early with us, but he's a total idiot."

"Now that's not true-"

"You know what I mean."

Dorothy Ann shrugged.

As they reached Arnold's locker, he turned to face her. "Hey, are you doing anything after school today? Would you mind if we started the chemistry project?"

"That's fine with me!" She was eager to get started as well. "Carlos is coming over for dinner later; you're welcome to stay, too."

"Oh?" Arnold smirked, which Dorothy Ann pointedly ignored.

"Do you have any ferric chloride?"

"Yeah, I should have enough for what we need, I just have to run home to grab it. I'll be at your house in maybe half an hour?"

"I'll be there."

Dorothy Ann quickly made her way to her own locker, gathering the textbooks she needed and orderly filing away the ones she didn't before carefully closing the door. She lived only a fifteen minute walk from the high school, the main reason her parents hadn't gifted her a car for her sixteenth birthday the same way Carlos', Ralphie's, Arnold's, and Keesha's parents had. But with school so close and enough friends to help her if she needed it, Dorothy Ann didn't quite care that she was lacking.

Her room hadn't changed much. There were fewer frills than when she was eight, but her updated telescope still sat on the tiny balcony she had and her walls were still plastered with images of the final frontier. As Dorothy Ann cleared the space atop her long dresser of different gadgets she had acquired over the years, she thought about how grateful she was that Arnold was her chemistry partner in particular. Although not as overbearing as Dorothy Ann was, Arnold also liked to make sure that all his school work was done correctly, making the two of them a great team for the precision needed for advanced chemistry.

Once Arnold arrived, they worked seamlessly, his abilities being one of the very few things that Dorothy Ann didn't feel the need to control. The assignment, To Study the Presence of Insecticides and Pesticides in Market Produce, required them to carefully mix a specific solution for baths their various fruits and vegetables would soak in for the next several days. It was after Dorothy Ann had filled in the first column of their charts and Arnold was easing their subjects into the different baths with gloved hands that Carlos appeared.

"Whoa," he said, raising his brows as he scanned the dresser. "Is this for chemistry? Keesha and I haven't even picked our topic yet."

Arnold frowned. "Really? Weren't those due today?"

"Our period is a day behind the others."

"Oh, well, ours is just time-consuming," Arnold said as he threw his gloves away. "We figured it'd be better to get started sooner rather than later."

"Hey, nerds!" Dorothy Ann's little sister, Evan, called up the stairs. "Dinner's ready! Get down here!"

Dorothy Ann rolled her eyes, watching similar reactions in her friends. Evan, while still her little sister, had been stubbornly condescending to Dorothy Ann and her friends since their sophomore year, when the eight of them had suffered a rather unreasonable stint of teasing for their desire to learn. Regardless, the three of them obeyed, joining Dorothy Ann's family in the kitchen for dinner.

"Get your potions all set up?" Even sneered as they sat down.

"They're chemical solution baths, not potions," Dorothy Ann said exasperatedly. "Chemistry isn't magic, it's science."

Evan scoffed. "Whatever, nerd."

"Evan, stop using that word like it's an insult," Dorothy Ann's dad snapped as he drew up a chair. "You could stand to learn from Dorothy Ann and her friends. They've taken a real interest in the world around them and in their education. That's nothing to laugh at."

Evan glared at the table, and Dorothy Ann sighed as her mom brought them all bowls of her everything-pasta-salad. She and Evan were only two years apart, and when they were younger they had often been mistaken for twins because they looked so much alike. But while Dorothy Ann had maintained a simple ponytail for years and refused to mess with make-up beyond the occasional concealer, she looked rather plain compared to what Evan had painstakingly morphed herself into over the past three years. Hair kept at her chin and religiously straightened, eyelids drooping with smoky powders, Evan looked like she belonged on the cover of an indie rock CD most days.

But dinner was comfortable, Evan considered. Dorothy Ann and her friends had been to one another's home so often in the eleven years they had been together that it wasn't even like having guests over anymore. Dorothy Ann even suspected that all their parents just generally made enough food to feed an extra mouth or two on a regular basis.

"Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Robinson," Arnold said as they all began to finish. "I'll need to get going, though," he added as he glanced at the clock. "My mom and dad will be wondering where I am before long."

"No worries, dear. We'll see you later."

"I'll walk you to the door," Dorothy Ann offered. She turned on the porch light as she opened the door for Arnold, and he gave her a final reminder to test their produce at midnight before he waved and closed the door behind him. Dorothy Ann shook her head. Like she'd forget.

"I appreciate the help, Carlos," her mom was saying rather pointedly as Dorothy Ann returned to the kitchen, eyes directed at Evan. But Evan just sat at the table, continuing to eat her dinner one noodle at a time.

"Not a problem, Mrs. Robinson," Carlos said smoothly as he dried a plate and set it in the cabinet. "I certainly don't help out at home this much. It's good for me."

Dorothy Ann's dad laughed and handed Carlos another plate. "So, you kids off to stargaze again?"

"Absolutely. Dorothy Ann said that it was supposed to be really clear tonight."

Dorothy Ann nodded, joining her mom in clearing the table. "It is! Not to mention that it's so much warmer now. We won't have to wear five layers just to sit out there for ten minutes."

"Well, the sun's due to go soon," her dad said. "Why don't you kids get going? Your mom and I can get Evan to help with the rest."

Evan immediately bristled. "What? Why do they get a free pass to go out _alone_ on a _school night_ just for some stupid stars? You guys wouldn't even let me go to a movie with Hunter last week on a _Saturday_. This is so unfair!"

While Dorothy Ann's dad's lips drew back, already in the argument, her mom just shook her head and waved the two older teenagers away. "Go on. Drive safe, please."

"Yes, ma'am," Carlos said. He caught Dorothy Ann's eye and smiled. "Let's roll."

Carlos' car was a ridiculously beat up 1990 hatchback that only just technically had a backseat. However, the eight had experimented and found out that, if willing to be a little cozy, they could all cram into the available space that wasn't the driver's seat, including the back trunk space.

They drove out to the Spot. Along the sea shore closest to Walkerville was a single public beach and miles of chained-off jagged cliff sides. But on the very edge of the city's boundaries was a grassy hill, not blocked by chains or signed warning of legal fines. It led to a steep drop off promising a rocky death on the waves just the same as the others, but somehow it had been missed being made forbidden.

And, being so far from the main lights of Walkerville, the Spot was ideal for stargazing.

Dorothy Ann grabbed the sturdy outdoor blanket Carlos kept under the passenger seat. The hike to the Spot was steep but short. Without a word, they laid out the blanket and collapsed onto their backs, feet resting on opposite corners and heads about a foot apart.

It was something Dorothy Ann and Carlos had done for years. Their first time stargazing had been in seventh grade, when the winter sun set earlier than expected while they were in Carlos' backyard and Dorothy Ann hadn't been able to _not_ talk about the stars. Then it became something like tradition. At least once a month, Dorothy Ann and Carlos, sometimes accompanied by some or all of the others, would take time out of their lives to simply stare at the cosmos.

It was Dorothy Ann's favorite part of her life.

Neither she nor Carlos spoke for a long time. The last of the sunlit hues in the sky were completely gone when Carlos finally broke the silence.

"Are you feeling any better? After what Ralphie said?"

"I am now. I just...needed to let the hurt run its course like I always do." She sighed. "In any case, I can't be too mad at Ralphie. He wasn't really wrong."

"I don't know, it sounded more like Ralphie shouldn't have been a huge dick about something that was his own fault."

Dorothy Ann giggled. Then she pointed above them. "Look, a meteoroid."

"You mean a shooting star?" Carlos teased. "You can't wish on a meteoroid. But it's good manners to wish on a shooting star."

"I don't think there's anything I would want to wish for, to be honest. I love my life. Where it's been, where it's heading...I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Not a single thing? Really?"

Dorothy Ann swallowed. Maybe...one thing. But she found herself saying, "Not that I can think of."

The meteoroid was already gone, more a flash in the sky that disappeared before she had finished pointing it out. But the vanished sight settled in her chest, a feeling of security that, for all the ups and downs of human life, some things would always follow their margins.

"You're happy with your life, too, aren't you?" she asked when Carlos didn't reply.

"Oh, yeah, of course," he said, but Dorothy Ann thought he sounded a little off.


	7. Chapter 2

**_Tuesday, May 13,_ _2003_ _  
_** _ **morning**_

Tim had to practically crawl out of the backseat of Ralphie's little CRV. He wasn't as tall as his dad, but Tim still towered over most of his peers, standing just over six feet tall. Ralphie liked to pretend they were the same height, but Tim knew he had a solid inch on his friend. But, despite the struggle in and out of the backseat everyday, Tim didn't really mind. He liked being able to stretch across the whole of the car during the drive.

"I can't wait to tell the others," Wanda said as she slammed her door shut.

"I can't wait 'til I don't have to wake up so early anymore," Ralphie yawned.

Tim cocked a brow. "You got up at least two hours earlier than this all year for sports and only complained, like...once."

"Yeah, but that was for sports, not just regular ol' class."

As they drew closer to the front doors, Wanda asked, "Have you started working on your speech?"

"Nah, I've got plenty of time."

"Graduation's only three weeks away, man," Tim said.

"Yeah? But how hard can writing a graduation speech really be?"

" _Excuse_ me?" Keesha said from directly behind them, walking up with Phoebe. " _You_ were the one freaking out about having to give the speech yesterday. Now it's, 'Oh, how hard can it be?'"

Ralphie turned then, just inside the front doors of the school, to bat his lashes at Keesha, who nearly stood level with him. " _You_ 're really good at writing speeches, Keesh. The best I know."

"Oh, god, get away from me," Keesha laughed, pushing past him. Tim and the others grinned as Ralphie followed her, obviously still begging, as they made their way in the opposite direction. Tim laced his fingers when Phoebe's, letting her smile wash over him. Not even the richest foods could swell his soul the way her smile did.

On his other side, Wanda was still chuckling about Ralphie. "He ought to just kiss her already. That ought to soften her up to writing the speech for him."

Phoebe shook her head. "I don't think a kiss would make Keesha do anything."

Tim nodded. "She'd probably just clock him if he tried."

"Eh, it worked for me with Arnold."

"Wanda, are you _still_ standing by that?" Phoebe asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Pretending that you only kissed him freshman year so he'd help you with your history project so you could focus on practicing for the winter play?"

Tim watched as Wanda's lips drew tight, brows straightening. He squeezed Phoebe's hand, trying to warn her, but she either didn't understand or didn't care.

"You two have been dating for two years now, Wanda. It's okay to admit it."

A low growl rumbled from Wanda, and Tim had to refrain from leaning away from her. Now Phoebe had done it.

"We are _not_ dating," Wanda muttered angrily. "I don't _date_. I'm not some weak thing that needs a stupid boy. I'm not dating Arnold, we haven't been, and we never will be." And with a rather dramatic huff and turn up of her nose, Wanda stomped off toward her locker.

"Why'd you have to bait her like that?" Tim asked as they watched her pass by Arnold at his own locker. The poor redhead smiled at Wanda, only to receive a snarl in return. Tim led Phoebe down the hall. Her locker was toward the end, and Arnold deserved an explanation.

"Do you two know what that was about?" Arnold asked, bewildered.

"Apparently, dating is for the weak."

Arnold groaned, his frustration drawn out as he shut his locker. "Great. Well, thank whoever it was that made my next couple weeks all frosty."

Tim grimaced sympathetically as he and Phoebe continued walking. Once out of earshot of Arnold, he asked her again, "Come on, why'd you have to do that to Arnold?"

"I wasn't trying to get at Arnold, I just...I just think it's time Wanda came to terms with it."

"That's not really our place. Besides, even if they're mostly keeping it secret or whatever, they seem happy, right?"

Phoebe shrugged, small frown tugging at her lips. "Maybe. It just doesn't seem right. Arnold really cares for her and she does _this_ anytime someone brings it up or we accidentally see them. It's not like any of us care if they're dating."

"Well, no. But, for whatever reason, Wanda _really_ cares." They came to Phoebe's locker, and Tim turned her toward him. "I know you just want to help. But maybe you should just let them sort it out on their own."

"I have been, but it's been two years!"

Tim laughed at the concern in her eyes, unable to help the affection in his heart. "I know, but not everyone's going to just click together the way we did. We're the weird ones, always remember that."

"Your tone suggests that's a compliment."

Grinning, Tim leaned in and touched the tip of his nose to hers. "It was, sweetheart."

Although he couldn't see her mouth, Tim could tell by the way Phoebe's eyes creased at the corners and curved her bottom lashes that she was smiling, likely with all her perfectly straight teeth showing. He breathed her in, loving that, even after five years, her scent still rippled across his body like an electric wave. Bridging the gap, Tim leaned in and took her lips to his.

It was short and sweet, but Tim was still a teenager. As they pulled back, he took a steadying breath and willed his blood to flow anywhere else but south.

"So, how was your morning?" he asked her as she opened her locker and began rifling through it.

"Funny you should ask, but...I swear there's a car following me and Keesha. It was there yesterday and today again."

That redirected Tim's blood flow. "Following you?"

"Well, I mean...it seems like it. It's the same car, a little old and with really tinted windows, that I've never seen before yesterday. The front window is even tinted."

"Is it a Pinto?" Tim asked, thinking of the car Wanda had pointed out the morning before in the parking lot.

"A what?"

"Kind of like a cross between a Station Wagon and Carlos' car."

"Oh, definitely not. This was one of those big church vans."

Now _that_ was unsettling. But Phoebe could be easily frightened, and Tim wasn't sure that a weird car two days in a row really justified the anxiety sharing his worries with her would bring. Tim said, "It's probably just a new person in the neighborhood. You don't live too far from the school. It's probably just coincidence that their schedule and route is lining up with yours."

"You really think that?"

"I'm sure of it, sweetheart." But when Phoebe still didn't look convinced, Tim decided to share the news he, Ralphie, and Wanda had discovered that morning. "Hey, guess who's back in town?"

"Who?"

" _Ms. Frizzle_."

"What?" Phoebe gasped. "How do you know?"

"Remember when Ralphie, Wanda, and I saw a moving van outside her old house a few weeks ago?"

"Well yeah, but you all said that you didn't get a look at who was actually moving in."

"And we didn't. But this morning, we did." He grinned. "Ralphie almost ran off the road. We saw her in the garage with a tool box, working on the bus."

"That's so exciting! She must be back from whatever vacation she took after we left the junior high," Phoebe said happily. "If she's working on the bus, that probably means she'll be teaching again next year. I mean, what else could she possibly do with a talent like she has?"

Tim agreed, linking his fingers back with Phoebe's as they made their way toward their first classes, trying to imagine what lucky first graders would inherit the teacher that changed their lives forever.

* * *

 _ **Tuesday, May 13, 2003  
afternoon**_

Wanda never thought she'd be someone that dated young. She never thought she would ever even want to date until she was out of college. She had plans, things to do, things she wanted to accomplish before she involved anyone else in her life in such an overwhelming way. And then she and Arnold had been alone in the backstage of the high school's theater, and Wanda had let a single surge of affection make a fool out of her and she had actually kissed him.

But were she and Arnold dating?

Sure, they hung out a lot, even without any of the others. Sure, they went to the movies, museums, hikes, aquariums, even just the beach together. Sure, they would occasionally hold hands when alone. Sure, she still allowed a kiss or two every so often, out of sight of the others…

But did that mean they were dating?

Certainly they didn't love each other. Surely after two years of...whatever they were doing, if it was dating, a girlfriend and boyfriend would have told each other that they loved the other? Wanda and Arnold hadn't.

So they weren't dating.

Phoebe was just stupid, Wanda thought as she glared out the window of her French class. Just because Phoebe had been a sap for Tim for the past...what? Five years? That was insane, to have been with someone for five years before even graduating high school. She sighed, and Carlos kicked her under their desk.

"Will you stop it?" he whispered, only half-joking. "You've sighed like eight times this whole period. What's up?"

"Nothing," she whispered back, making an effort to face the front and listen to the lesson.

One day, Wanda was going to be a travel journalist, and Canada was the most logical starting point for her global escapades, thus leading her to take French instead of the stereotypical German or Latin. She was immensely jealous of Carlos, who grew up speaking both English and Spanish and for whom learning French was a total breeze. Like Keesha, who sat on Carlos' other side, Wanda wasn't quite as good at grasping languages. Her attention wandered back to the window.

That stupid Pinto from yesterday was prowling the student parking lot a story below, its definitely-not-legal tinted windows rolled up. It cruised at a comically slow speed. Wanda rolled her eyes. Seniors were so stupid.

The bell rang then, and Wanda hastily gathered her things. "See you guys later," she said to Keesha and Carlos as he hurried off for her final period, athletics.

Admittedly, though she moved as if still excited, athletics had become rather dull since most of the sports events had ended for the year. Softball, soccer, and track had kept Wanda beyond busy that year, but as none of the teams had advanced beyond the state championship, the final weeks of school had turned her athletic period into a pointless exercise class. She dressed out the same as the other girls in her period, girls that had made up the main and junior teams, joining in the conversations that echoed on the tile of the locker rooms. Even the conversations felt pointless. Not that Wanda didn't enjoy the company of her teammates, but without a common goal, she didn't feel quite as connected to them.

An hour later, the final bell for the school day rang as Wanda was launching a dodgeball across the basketball court at the opposing team. She showered and dressed as quickly as she could, grabbing her things and shouting an insincere farewell as she darted for the door.

She practically bowled Ralphie over on the other side.

"Jesus!" Ralphie laughed, catching himself on the wall and grabbing Wanda by her upper arm to keep her from falling. "What's the hurry? You're already late."

"Well, Coach wasn't watching the time, apparently," Wanda said as she straightened. "We were in the middle of a game when the bell rang."

"Oh man, I hate it when that happens. You always bitch so much when I'm late."

"Ha ha, Ralphie, very funny." But Wanda smirked as they began walking toward the exits. Tim always grabbed a ride with one of the others after school, not wanting to wait around for Wanda and Ralphie to shower. Wanda yawned as they stepped outside. The parking lot wasn't even half-full.

"Do you think D.A. is still mad at me?"

"What?" Wanda furrowed her brows. "I thought she was acting pretty normal today. Why?"

"Because she gave me a skeleton outline for my speech to help me get it started." Ralphie bit his lip. "I'm sure it's some kind of passive agressive girl nonsense."

"You're confusing D.A. with Keesha, who definitely would do something like that."

Ralphie laughed sheepishly. "Well, I kinda thought maybe Keesha put her up to it."

"Oh, come on, Ralphie. Keesha has better things to do than plot against you. Unlike you, she doesn't just think about you all day."

A pink flush bloom in Ralphie's cheeks as he unlocked the doors, letting them into his car.

Wanda cackled. "Wow, way to be obvious, Blusher Boy."

"I'm just hot from the shower! Besides, when are you going to just admit that you and Arnold have been dating for god-knows-how-long?"

Fast as lightning, Wanda reached over and pinched the underside of Ralphie's arm, hard. He shrieked and pulled away, smacking his window. They glared at each other for a moment, then broke out into giggles.

"Hey," Ralphie said as their laughter died down and he started the car. "Should we stop by and go say hi to Ms. Frizzle now that she's back?"

"Eh, she's only been moved back in a few weeks. She's probably still getting settled and re-acquainted with Walkerville. She'll call us when she's ready to see us."

"Uh, I hate to break it to you, Wan, but the few of us that do have cell phones got them after she left."

"Did you forget that landlines exist?" Wanda said with a roll of her eyes. "Personally, mine hasn't changed in about twenty years, according to my mom."

Ralphie looked over at her. "Oh yeah, you were actually born here, weren't you?"

"Yep," she said, nodding. "Mom and Dad went to Walkerville High themselves, went to NYCU together, got married, and moved back here to have kids. My mom's been in the same house since 1984."

"Man, that's so cool. So much history, you know? I can't even remember what New Jersey was like, despite my mom saying that it's 'unforgettable.'"

"If it was so unforgettable, why'd you leave?"

Ralphie shrugged. "I don't really remember. But I think it had something to do with the schools being better and an opening at the hospital for Mom."

"To be fair, the schools here are pretty great, I hear."

"Hell yeah. I mean, look at what all we did with Ms. Frizzle," Ralphie said, opening his hands as if to showcase eight years of adventures in their palms. "No way I'd have gotten that in New Jersey."

Wanda laughed, smiling as fond memories of Ms. Frizzle and the childhood she had given them all resurfaced. Maybe they should go and see her. But as Ralphie pulled onto the main strip that would lead them to their neighborhood, the opposite direction of Ms. Frizzle's house, Wanda pushed the thought aside. They'd make time another day.


	8. Chapter 3

_**Wednesday, May 14, 2003  
morning**_

Spicy pork sausage had to be God's literal gift to Man, Carlos thought as he shoved the remaining half of his taco into his mouth. Juice dribbled down his chin. Though he grabbed the cloth napkin from his lap to clean himself, Carlos still saw Maria shoot him a disapproving glare from the sink. Mikey snickered on his left. Carlos chewed quickly and gave a mighty swallow before giving Maria an apologetic grin, but all she did was sigh and return to the dishes.

Six years Carlos' dad had been married to Maria. Six years in which Carlos and Mikey had to adjust to her, and six years in which Maria had to adjust to them. Unfortunately, Carlos was sure she had never quite taken to them. But she wasn't openly hostile or neglectful, something Mikey often joked was basically Maria's idea of affection, and Carlos had long ago accepted that maybe Maria was just indifferent to her stepsons.

According to Carlos' dad, it had been love at first sight. When Carlos had been in fourth grade, the Ramon boys flew to Mexico to visit their extended family, and Carlos' uncle had been eager to introduce his dad to the young woman that lived down the road from them. Several years younger than Carlos' dad, gorgeous, and with two small children of her own, Maria Gutierrez had absorbed Carlos' dad for the majority of their month in Mexico. It took less than a full year before they were married and moved into their house in Walkerville.

A lot of changes happened in that time, mostly Carlos and Mikey having to now share a room so that Maria's daughters could share the other. But even when Carlos and Mikey had been put off by their new stepmother's intensity, they were eased by knowing that their dad was happy in a way they had never really seen. Their mother had abandoned the family just after Mikey had been born and Carlos was only a toddler himself, but the despair of that loss was easy to notice once it had gone.

"You must go to school," Maria said, words deeply accented. She hadn't spoken a word of English when they had first met her, but six years in the States had helped. "You will be being late."

"Oh, _mami_ , we'll be fine." Sofia, ten years old and smaller than even Wanda had been at that age, waved her hand as she reached for another tortilla. "We have lots of time."

Vanessa, eight years old and just as big as her sister but with much more delicate features, nodded. "If anything, _we_ 'll be on time. The boys will probably be late."

Maria squinted at them all, lips disappearing as she regarded them. "Still, you must go. Your schooling is more important than dinner."

"You mean breakfast."

Maria's eyes nearly shut with the venom she narrowed them at Mikey. Carlos stifled a laugh.

But no one was foolish enough to argue with Maria more than once, and the four quickly grabbed their bags and piled into the tiny beater that Carlos' dad had found in a junkyard for his sixteenth birthday. Carlos was sure the idea was that they were going to rebuild it into a real roadster together, but once they managed to get the engine to stop shaking and replaced the brake pads, neither Carlos nor his dad really felt the need to continue. It worked, and that was really all Carlos cared about.

Carlos pulled into the staff parking lot of the elementary school, fond nostalgia sweeping him like it did every morning that he dropped the girls off. As he stepped onto the blacktop to let his little sisters climb out, the feeling increased. Wanda had told him he previous day that Ms. Frizzle was back in town, and they were all certain that she'd be taking on another group of kids when fall came.

That familiar flutter of uncertainty rocked Carlos' chest as he sat back behind the wheel. The others all knew exactly what they wanted to do after college. Arnold had wanted to be a geologist probably since he was born; Wanda was going to travel as a journalist; Keesha and Ralphie both wanted to teach and coach; Tim knew his future lied in graphic design of some sort, likely movies; Phoebe planned on being a veterinarian; and of course, Dorothy Ann was going to be a scientist at N.A.S.A. But while his friends all had more or less settled on their career goals long ago, Carlos still had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. There were so many possibilities. It was overwhelming just imagining them all, let alone selecting a single one to focus on.

"You've got that faraway look in your eye again."

Carlos blinked as he turned on the main strip that would lead to the high school, then turned to Mikey. "What?"

"You thinking about a certain someone?"

"No," Carlos said, ignoring his brother's smirk. "Actually, I was thinking about the future. I still don't know what the hell I'll be doing."

"I thought you all already applied to like a million colleges?"

"Well yeah, but I was thinking even past that. After college. The others...they all have real plans, and I don't even have an _idea_."

Mikey tapped a finger to his lips thoughtfully. "Well, you're good with a crowd. Maybe you ought to find a nice carnival and travel the country. Maybe the world if it's a high-class-enough one."

"Yeah, that'd be a great use of my talents, alright," Carlos laughed. "But maybe some travel time wouldn't be so bad. Some of the others mentioned thinking about taking a year to travel, but Dorothy Ann thought that'd be irresponsible."

"Maybe you ought to take just her, then. Show her just how responsible you can be." Mikey raised his brows several times in quick succession.

Ignoring the warmth in his neck, Carlos nodded. "I'd be happy to help D.A. escape the pull of college academia, but I doubt she'd let me."

They parked, and by the time Carlos had climbed out and slung his backpack over his shoulder, Mikey was already wheeling away, surrounded by a large group of friends and admirers. Mikey had always been popular in a way that Carlos desperately did not want to be. He much preferred his seven close friends to the ever-shifting entourage that followed his brother around all the time.

The first thing Carlos saw when he pushed through the main doors of the school was the back of Dorothy Ann's head, ponytail bouncing slightly as she talked with Ralphie, who looked utterly lost. Carlos made his way over.

"...and once the crowd dies down, you can really start the conclusion," Dorothy Ann was saying, pointing at a paper in her hands. "This'll be the easiest part to remember, since you'll just be reiterating the main points you've already covered, but you have to make sure you close strong, too."

Once close enough, Carlos clapped his hand on Dorothy Ann's shoulder, making her jump a little. "Come on, Ralphie got himself into this mess, you ought to let him do all the work," he said smoothly, gently taking the paper from her hands and offering it to Ralphie, who took it. Both Dorothy Ann and Ralphie looked at Carlos gratefully, and he smiled. He liked being the only one who could consistently stop Dorothy Ann once she gathered steam on a lecture, and he really liked reminding Ralphie that he shouldn't be relying on her to do all his work for him.

It was an art, really.

Dorothy Ann's smile twisted a little as she studied him. She knew exactly what he was doing, and Carlos tried not to look sheepish as he smiled back.

"You know," Dorothy Ann said, looking back at Ralphie, "Carlos is right. Besides, I know you can do this without my bossing you around."

"No, no! Don't be sorry," Ralphie said. "Really, the outline gave me a great starting point. I really appreciate it, you know."

Dorothy Ann beamed at the praise, then turned to make her way to the lockers, a little bounce in her step. Carlos looked back at Ralphie and shot him a thumbs up.

"Thanks, man," he whispered, then took off to follow Dorothy Ann.

* * *

 ** _Wednesday, May 14, 2003  
_** ** _afternoon_**

Keesha was certain that her notes from World Cultures were garbage. As she studied them in the noisy cafeteria, ignoring the whooping from a nearby table that sounded an awful lot like the tribal chanting of the people her notes were supposed to be reviewing, Keesha frowned. She hated it when she became so caught up in the lessons that she forgot to properly take notes.

"You studying for the test Friday?"

Keesha looked up at Carlos, who was reading her notes over her shoulder, mouth half full of something that smelled a lot like pure feta. "Our test isn't until next week."

"What? Why?"

Dorothy Ann answered from across the table, tone annoyed. "Our class is a few days behind because we had more students actually turn in and present that last big project."

"Hey, I turned mine in!" Carlos said, throwing up his hands. Tim laughed, but the girls just rolled their eyes. Keesha gave up on her notes, stuffing them back in her bag as she caught Carlos muttering to himself, "Maybe Indonesia could be my first stop."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Carlos glanced at her, a little surprised. "Oh, nothing. Mikey just said maybe I should travel after college since I still don't really know what I want to do with myself. And to be honest, right now that doesn't sound like a bad plan. Hell, maybe we all could, you know?" His eyes lit up a little. "If we all graduated college at the same time, we could all take off on a year-long, world-wide, whirlwind adventure, just the eight of us."

Tim nodded. "Wanda wants to be a travel journalist anyway; she'd probably be game."

Carlos looked directly at Dorothy Ann. "What do you think? Would you be willing to tour the world with me as your captain?"

Dorothy Ann shook her head with a groan. "I am definitely not joining a pirate gang, Carlos."

"Why not? I'll take great care of my crew. Arr!" Carlos abruptly stood, waving his sandwich like a sword and promptly smacking a passing student in the face and causing him to drop his tray. Carlos and Tim immediately launched to help, Carlos profusely apologizing, while Keesha scooted closer to Dorothy Ann.

"You know," she said lowly, "you should seriously consider taking a year to travel with Carlos. Could do you both some good," she added with a wink.

A loud blush burst on Dorothy Ann's cheeks. She giggled awkwardly. "Oh, Keesha, he wasn't being serious."

Keesha rolled her eyes. "You are hopeless, you know that?"

But her friend just shook her head and returned to her lunch, eyes determinedly on the table. Keesha sighed. Maybe it was because she was secretly a romantic at heart, but Keesha knew Dorothy Ann and Carlos were meant for each other. She wasn't sure any of the others knew, except maybe Arnold, who was pretty in tune with everyone. Dorothy Ann was always so intensely private, it took Keesha the better part of seventh grade to finally conclude that yes, Dorothy Ann had a crush the size of space on Carlos.

Carlos, on the other hand, took Keesha a lot longer to read. He was always ready with a stupid joke. It made Keesha feel like a super-creep as she watched him constantly, keeping an eye out for soft eyes when he thought no one was looking and barely-altered mannerisms when it came to interacting with Dorothy Ann. But by the time they were saying good-bye to Ms. Frizzle, Keesha knew. He didn't just like her, he adored her.

But both were so bull-headed about admitting it. After the most frustrating two-weeks of her life in their freshman year trying to talk to each of them alone, Keesha had to admit that maybe it was better left to develop organically.

That didn't stop it from being insanely frustrating.

Keesha, much like the others, she knew, was absolutely ready to be done with high school. The classes only barely held her attention much of the time, the people were petty and shallow, and the school in general smelled like a hormone hive. When the final bell rang everyday, Keesha tried not to let her brain do it's subconscious tally mark toward the last day for fear it would only depress her.

"Hey, Keesha."

Keesha slammed her locker closed as the hallways emptied. Most kids bolted for the door, not bothering with lockers after classes were released, but Keesha kind of liked taking the time to let that first surge of students leave before she made her way to the parking lot. Phoebe stood a few feet from her, hands wrapped around her backpack straps.

"Hey, Phoeb. Where's Tim?"

"Oh, he's going home with Arnold today. They're starting that College Algebra final assessment."

Keesha groaned, rubbing her neck and finding a knot as they stepped outside. "Wanda and I really need to start that."

"Don't worry, Carlos and I haven't started, either. We were going to tomorrow, though. Maybe we could all work on it together."

"That'd be awesome!"

They drove in comfortable silence to Phoebe's house, but Keesha could feel the anxiety burst off of Phoebe in sonic waves the moment they pulled up.

"It's that van again," she whispered, pointing.

Her finger was unnecessary, though. Parked directly in front of Phoebe's house was that same van Keesha and Phoebe had been seeing all week before and after school, seeming to follow them. Keesha had been inclined to believe Tim when he told Phoebe that it was probably just a coincidence, but as she nervously eyed the van, idling just beyond the Terese's mailbox, Keesha felt that confidence shatter.

"Your grandparents are home, right?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the van.

"Yeah, they should be."

"I'll walk you to the door then."

"Thank you."

Surely they were being paranoid and silly, Keesha thought as they came together on the passenger side of her car. What did they have to really fear from a car with heavily-tinted windows? But the unease remained.

And it was justified.

Just as Keesha and Phoebe, side by side, stepped onto the front lawn, duct tape slapped across Keesha's mouth. Her adrenaline immediately spiked, rendering her temporarily useless as the long strand of tape wrapped over her hair and around her head. But she tugged away then, trying to turn around, when a dark canvas bag slammed over her head and drew tight around her neck. With surprising ease, all those hours practicing defense with Ms. Frizzle at the junior high rushed forward, and Keesha was able to land a few decent punches and kicks to a body blind before her wrists were snagged. Hands wrenched behind her back and secured with what felt like a ziptie, Keesha yanked away with all her might.

The duct tape refused her access to scream. Her arm was alight with pain near the shoulder, and Keesha could have cried with frustration if she wasn't so scared. Her ankles were seized then, also bound, and her face slammed into the concrete of the sidewalk. An unfamiliar arm wrapped around her waist, hoisted her through the air, and tossed her unceremoniously into what had to be the echoing back of that creepy van. Phoebe's muted whimpers were in Keesha's ear.

A set of metal doors slammed shut, and all Keesha could focus on was the pounding of her heart as the van began to move.


	9. Chapter 4

_**Wednesday, May 14, 2003  
afternoon**_

Arnold had duct tape over his mouth, a bag over his head, zip-ties cutting into this wrists and ankles, and was sliding around the back of some sort of vehicle with Tim and two other bodies that he was pretty certain were Wanda and Ralphie. He knew them well enough to recognize their grunts and whimpers.

Fear was clouding Arnold's brain, staunching a lot of intelligent thought as the vehicle hummed beneath him. Why on earth would they four be kidnapped, especially since the two pairs had been quite a distance apart? Arnold and Tim had only just arrived at Arnold's house when they had been ambushed. Based on the general timing, Arnold figured that Wanda and Ralphie mostly likely had been taken directly from the high school.

"Cheoncheonhi hae. Ulineun gyeongchal-e butjabhyeo sipji anhseubnida." The language was oriental, unfamiliar.

Just as Arnold began to wonder just how long a human could breathe their own carbon monoxide before they lost consciousness, the car came to an easy stop. There was movement within the vehicle around him, more swift words in the unknown language, and then Arnold was hooked by his waist and tossed over someone's shoulder. His face smacked what felt like a bullet proof vest and pain exploded in his nose.

They were carried in silence but for the shuffling of dirt, then the echoing thuds of shoes on tile. Blood was filling Arnold's head, making him feel pressurized and dizzy. Then he was tossed like a bag of trash.

The concrete floor was unforgiving.

"Oh!"

Arnold jerked his head up at D.A.'s hasp. What on earth was she doing there?

There was a clanking noise, the distinct sound of a cage being shut. A scampering of footsteps was near Arnold's ear, a rustle of fabric, and the unmistakable rip of duct tape being removed.

"God _dammit_!" Wanda shouted.

"Sorry," D.A. said. The same succession of sounds preceded a loud, far less vulgar, gasp from Tim, then Ralphie, and then Arnold had the hood pulled off his head. D.A.'s face was close to his, eyes wide with the same anxieties he felt. The tape burned when she ripped it off his mouth, but at least he could breathe again.

D.A. moved back to Wanda, one of her shoelaces in her hand to tear apart the zip-ties on her wrists. Arnold looked around as D.A. proceeded to Tim, leaving Wanda to undo her own ankles. They were in a literal cage, something like an outdoor guard-dog containment unit. Fluorescent lights brighter than anything Arnold had ever seen hung all over the low ceiling, casting no shadows in the room, which wasn't much smaller than a typical bedroom.

Arnold turned his attention back to D.A. as she helped unbind his wrists.

"What's going on?" Wanda asked as she restrung her shoelace. "Where the fuck are we?"

"I-I-I don't know," D.A. said, voice wavering. "I was taken by a passing car on my walk home. I didn't even see who did it."

"Why didn't they tie you up, too?" Ralphie asked.

"They did. But they cut apart my wrists just before they threw me in here." She looked around the room in dismay. "I only remembered the shoestring trick Ms. Frizzle taught us just before you guys came. I...I thought it was just me."

Guilt laced every syllable of her final words, and Arnold grabbed D.A.'s shoulders, shaking her slightly for her to look at him. "You are not the reason we're all in here. We're together now, and we'll figure this out like we always do."

"We've never been _kidnapped_ and _caged_ , Arnold," Wanda snarled. She was at the cage's door, shaking the lock without an finesse in her fury. "We can't just _figure a way out_. We're doomed is what we are."

"Wanda, stop it," Tim snapped, more weary than annoyed. "That's not helping. We're not just going to sit here, that's for sure."

The five teenagers startled at the same time, whipping their heads to face the single door at the far end of the room. It was opening, allowing inside five men that were unreasonably bulky for their average heights. Slung over three of the men's shoulders were-

"Phoebe!" Tim called.

Carlos and Keesha were there, too, carried like sacks of potatoes as the men moved to the cage door. As they drew closer, Arnold noticed that the men were all oriental, maybe Thai or Korean.

The two unburdened men drew sleek rifles, readying them as they aimed for those inside the cage. Arnold instinctively clustered with the others along the back bars. The door was unlocked and their remaining friends were tossed in just as carelessly as they all had been. A muffled cry burst from Keesha when she hit the floor. The cage was locked once more, and the men left without a single word.

"Phoebe!" Tim cried again, rushing forward and dropping to his girlfriend's side. He tore off her hood and began undoing her binds. D.A. ran to Carlos, Ralphie to Keesha, both quickly freeing their friends as fast as they could.

Wanda's shoulder pressed against Arnold's. She wasn't shaking, crying, or whimpering, and Arnold wasn't stupid enough to try and comfort her. But then Wanda looked up at him, and the terror swimming in those brown-black eyes betrayed her. Heck, they were locked in a literal cage somewhere. Arnold could afford to be a little reckless. He intertwined his fingers with hers, gripping tight.

What was going on?

* * *

 _ **Wednesday, May 14, 2003  
**_ ** _afternoon_**

Phoebe's eyes immediately began to water when the dark bag slid off her head. Blinding light filled wherever they were, and Tim's dark face was close to hers as he tore the duct tape from her face. She yelped.

"Sorry," Tim muttered, frown tight as he began unlacing one of his shoes with shaking fingers. "Sorry, I-I should've been easier, I just-"

"No, Tim, it's okay. It would've hurt no matter how you did it."

He still didn't meet her eyes, focusing entirely too much on undoing her wrist binds as she stared at him. Phoebe knew Tim's quivering was telling. It was nearly impossible to unnerve him. If he was shaking, face contorted in all the terror that was racing through her own veins, things were bad. When the plastic of the zip-ties broke around her wrists, Phoebe threw her arms around Tim's neck, pulling him into a desperate hug. Whatever was happening...it couldn't be happening.

Tim's shaking stilled as they hung there a moment. When he pulled back, tears filled both their eyes.

Keesha shrieked then, the sound echoing and otherworldly.

Phoebe turned her head around to look, finding... _everyone_. All eight of them were trapped in the same cage; Arnold and Wanda stood a few feet back, hand-in-hand and wide-eyed; D.A. crouched next to Carlos as she broke the binds on his ankles; and Ralphie hovered over Keesha, who was sprawled on the concrete floor, ankles still bound and left arm dangling unnaturally from her shoulder as she screamed.

Oh no.

"Shhh, it's-it's...it's alright," Ralphie said, voice unsteady as he looked around at the others in horror. "I-I-I'm going to undo your ankles. Just lie still, okay? Then we'll look at your shoulder."

Keesha's brow glistened as she grimaced. "I don't even have to look at it to tell you it's fucked up," she gritted.

Ralphie carefully undid Keesha's ankles, and Tim did the same for Phoebe. The group shifted closer to Keesha and Ralphie, who leaned over to move some of the hair out of her face.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Keesha moaned.

"Well, you totally can. That's totally fine."

"Sure you...you won't be jealous?"

Ralphie gave a shaky laugh, hand still pulling through Keesha's hair as he glanced wildly around the room, eyes screaming for help. Despite never having actually been sick in front of them all before, Ralphie looked pretty close to vomiting just then.

Phoebe, feeling nauseous herself, cleared her throat. Everyone's eyes darted to her. "I think...it looks like she dislocated her shoulder. We're going to have to...to pop it back in place."

D.A. gulped. "Do you know how to do that?"

"I think so. I've seen videos and read a few medical texts..." Phoebe trailed away, not confident at all. Videos only conveyed so much, and the texts she had studied were specific to animals, not humans. She leaned into Tim's side, trying to quell her growing unease as he rubbed her arm. A few seconds trickled by, and when Keesha let out a low whimper, still clenching her eyes shut on the floor, Phoebe knew that she didn't have much of a choice. Uncertain as she was, the potential benefits outweighed the agony her friend was currently suffering. "I'm going to need help."

The eight were a well-oiled teamwork machine, trusting one another immensely. While Phoebe briefly explained what they would be doing and what everyone's jobs were going to be, her friends stared back, terrified by determined. They moved quickly around Keesha. Arnold, D.A., Carlos, and Wanda took up strategic places around Keesha, holding her firm to the floor with her left shoulder angled at Phoebe, Tim, and Ralphie.

"Alright," Phoebe said, fixing Tim and Ralphie with a searching look. "Ready?"

Tim nodded.

"As I'll ever be," Ralphie said.

Phoebe and Tim gripped Keesha's arm near the shoulder, leveling it with the socket. Ralphie flinched as Keesha screamed, body twitching against her friends' restraints.

"Ralphie, get ready," Phoebe said. She waited until he nodded once, positioning his hands near Keesha's wrist, ready for any extra push needed, then Phoebe quickly twisted and shoved Keesha's arm with all her might.

It went impossibly perfect.

Keesha's screams were enough to give them all nightmares, but a flutter of _victory_ exploded in Phoebe's chest when, on the first try, Keesha's arm popped loudly back into place. The screams faded into gasps as Phoebe, Tim, and Ralphie let Keesha go. Nodding at the others to move back, Phoebe dropped to Keesha's side and helped her into a sitting position.

"Are you alright?"

Keesha wheezed a little, but she was smiling. "I still might throw up but...oh god, that's so much better."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"Oh, no, it still hurts like a bitch. Just... _nothing_ like it did."

"Thank goodness."

The door across the room flew open then, banging loudly against the wall. Strolling through the doorway was a rather small and important-looking woman flanked by a man and woman with stiff shoulders. All three wore mustard-yellow blazers atop navy blue pencil skirts or slacks, breast pockets adorned with pins that glittered in the excessive light. The lead woman stepped right up to the cage door, nose even with the bars.

"Josimhae," the man warned.

The woman didn't move even to turn her head, voice relaxed. "Geudeul-eun geudeul-i iss-eoya hal mugicheoleom boinayo? Geudeul-eun muhaehada. Jigeum."

Phoebe could sense the threat at the end, making the hairs on her arms raise.

Switching to perfect, British-accented English, the woman spoke again, smiling warmly at the group. "Welcome."

None of them had moved a muscle from where they had scattered after helping Keesha. None of them moved as the woman addressed them, either.

"There is much you likely want to know. For now, the best I can give you is that this is a very temporary facility. Our permanent facility will have more comfortable accommodations and transportation, I can assure you. But before we can relocate, my medical staff will need a few blood samples from each of you. Then," the woman sighed, strangely reverent. "Then, you all will be properly advanced to the next phase of your training."

Wanda's voice was a harsh contrast to the honey that was dripping out of the older woman. "What's that supposed to mean? Next phase of _what_ training?"

"Your handler failed to provide you all with the tools to advance beyond your limited abilities, likely due to cowardice on your country's part. They are unwilling to do what must be done."

"Handler?" Phoebe heard herself ask.

The woman nodded. "Yes. I believe you all know her as Ms. Frizzle."


	10. Chapter 5

**_Wednesday, May 14, 2003  
_ _afternoon_**

Ralphie could have sworn his heart actually stopped. Ms. Frizzle, their 'handler?' What did that even mean?

The woman at their cage kept smiling, looking as though inspecting a delicate project. "You'll each have an escort for the blood samples, which will take place in just a few moments."

"Over my cold, dead body!" Wanda shouted.

"I encourage you all to cooperate," the woman said mildly. "I would like to avoid losing such fine specimen if I can."

Ralphie's skin erupted into goosebumps.

"You can cooperate, or you can be tazed, bound, and forced. The route makes no particular difference to me. After your blood samples are taken, you will undergo a short series of harmless scans, then you will advance to the phase you were denied. I am glad to have met you all once before the injection. It will give me great insight to the changes to take place."

Arnold's voice cracked. "Wh-what injection?"

Tilting her head, the woman's smile slipped for the first time. "The injection that will unlock your full potential, unlock what you eight were always meant to become. Others might be cautious, but I am a woman that accomplishes set goals. I will spare no time or effort in achieving what I must." Turning on her heel suddenly, the woman strode from the cage, her flanks following her to the door. She stopped, looking over her shoulder as she turned the knob. "I do hope you all cooperate for the blood draw and the scans. You will need your strength for all that's to come."

The door slammed behind her, echoing in the silence. Then everyone because speaking at once.

"What do you think she meant?"

"Do you really think it's just a simple blood draw?"

"No way, these people kidnapped us and locked us in a cage!"

"What kind of injection do you think she's talking about?"

"I'm not lying back to be poked with needles by these people!"

"But what can we do?"

"Not a whole lot."

"And what does any of this have to do with Ms. Frizzle?"

Phoebe's question shut them all up abruptly. Ralphie shifted his weight a bit, just enough to let his side brush Keesha's to ground him a little. Sure, their time with Ms. Frizzle wasn't exactly _normal_ , but it wasn't dangerous. It wasn't something that could spur the violence they were facing. Right?

"Well, regardless, I'm not letting any of these assholes take my blood," Wanda growled.

Phoebe frowned. "If they're just taking blood, it doesn't make sense to fight and get ourselves hurt."

"What, so you're just going to let them do whatever they want to you?"

"No," Tim said. "But that lady said they were going to take a few blood samples and then do some scans before the injection she mentioned. Neither a blood draw or a scan would really hurt us. And cooperating now and not getting ourselves really hurt," he said, shooting a look at Wanda, "would buy us some time before this injection."

Carlos nodded. "Yeah, I bet they're taking blood samples and scans to...I don't know, make sure the injection will work or something. They probably won't be injecting anything right away. They'll be testing our blood samples."

"Giving us a little time to work out a plan," D.A. added. "How long do blood tests take to read, anyway?"

"Well," Phoebe said, "at a typical lab, somewhere around 24 hours. But that's with a much higher volume of tests than just the eight of us."

"But the tests they're running are probably going to be much more complicated, right?" Arnold asked.

"True, but with just eight samples to do the same tests on, I still don't think it'll take nearly as long. My guess would only be a few hours. After all, we do seem to be a...a priority. They probably won't be taking any breaks."

"No...I guess not."

The door flew open, and Ralphie felt a chill run through him as eight men filed into the room, all carrying shining handguns. None of the teenagers resisted as they were dragged, one by one, out of the cage with a barrel to each of their heads. Outside the brightness of the small room, the world seemed particularly dark, rendering Ralphie mostly blind as he was dragged through a narrow hallway. The group was ushered down a flight of tile stairs and into a door on their right.

The new room reminded Ralphie of a dentist's office. But the walls were void of anything but the beige paint and there were ten chairs clustered together in the center of the room instead of one. Ralphie stumbled as the man bruising his arm shoved him forward. He was pushed down onto one of the chairs, where he was immediately tied down with thick leather straps at his ankles, shins, thighs, hips, waist, wrists, shoulders, and forehead.

"Is all this really necessary?" Carlos asked nervously from somewhere to Ralphie's right. "I mean, you guys have guns."

It did seem a bit excessive, as well as incredibly panic-inducing, to be tied down to the point of being unable to even wiggle.

But the men had stepped back, disappearing from view. Three women in dark gray lab coats seemed to come out of the walls. They all wore the same smile, slightly manic and entirely unnerving. One of them stood next to Ralphie and ran a finger up his arm. His restraints kept him from properly shivering at the touch.

"We do not want to do any more hurt than necessary," the woman nearest Ralphie said. Her English wasn't quite as flawless as the woman that spoke to them earlier. "You are the most wonderful, most incredible subjects we have ever study."

"Yes," another woman, just out of Ralphie's line of sight, said. "We be careful, no worry."

Ralphie's heart was surely going to beat right out of his chest for all the terror that was coursing through him. He didn't like needles to begin with, much to his mom's constant exasperation, but as the strange woman approached him with a large syringe, Ralphie felt that unease swell into full-blown panic. His muscles all tensed instinctively as he watched the needle draw closer to the crook of his elbow, only exacerbating the sharp sting where the needle broke his skin. Then came the draw, the cold suction that always left Ralphie slightly dizzier with every passing second.

But where the blood draw normally wound end, leaving Ralphie a little fuzzy-headed but otherwise still functional, the foreign woman continued to pull. Ralphie's heart tried but failed to race with the blood loss as the moments snailed by. It was only when the exterior of his vision began to fade, cutting his sight to pinpricks, that Ralphie felt the needle slide out of his arm. The chair spun eerily beneath him.

Phoebe's voice tickled his hears, her speech slurred. "Howm-much bloodid you take?"

"Just tiny more than typical," one of the women answered enthusiastically. "But you are young and strong. You feel better fast. You are so wonderful, you are."

"Wh-hat makesusso...so wonderful?" Ralphie asked. His tongue felt like lead.

Someone giggled as a door opened, the sound strangely loud. "Do you really not know? Do you really not know how special you are?"

"Neomu manh-i malhaji mala," came a deep voice as someone began undoing Ralphie's restraints. "Geunyang ne il-eulhaela."

One of the women began to reply, but Ralphie was roughly pulled to his fee then and the blood loss won. The world turned black.

* * *

 ** _Wednesday, May 14, 2003  
_ _afternoon_**

Not that the walk to the lab was remotely pleasant, but the exiting journey was significantly less so; Dorothy Ann felt on the very edge of consciousness as her feet failed beneath her, a gun pressed to her head and a strong hand literally dragging her. Phoebe's skin was almost translucent as she was moved along in front of Dorothy Ann, and alarm bells were dimly going off in her head as she noticed that Ralphie was entirely lifeless in the man's arms behind her.

The world wasn't behaving right around Dorothy Ann as she was forced back into the dark hallway; the floor was moving like a treadmill in contrast to the tilt-a-whirl feel that the walls were giving her. She inadvertently reached up to steady herself on the man that was about to break her arm as they mounted the stairs. He shrugged her off, still marching them forward in silence.

They followed Phoebe and and the other man through a door at the top of the stairs. Dark like the hallway but somehow glowing like an aquarium, the room didn't offer Dorothy Ann's dizziness any relief. Equipment was stacked against one wall, facing a grid that was projected onto another. Somewhere deep in the back of Dorothy Ann's mind, she thought that the white machines were some sort of medical device, but she couldn't be sure as she struggled to stay awake.

She was pushed forward past Phoebe, then spun around and shoved against the grid wall. She groaned.

"Yeogi seo," someone ordered.

The hand on her arm released her, and Dorothy Ann fought the urge to collapse onto the floor. The projector light was too bright, even against her closed eyes. There was a series of whirs and beeps.

"Wassda," the voice said, and Dorothy Ann was grabbed again, yanked roughly away from the wall.

Unable to keep her eyes open anymore, unconsciousness very close to overtaking her, Dorothy Ann focused everything she had in moving her feet. The walk was graciously short. The unreasonably bright lights that suddenly turned her eyelids red were familiar, the cage door opening almost a relief. Then she fell face-first onto the concrete floor. It hurt, but it was nice not to be upright anymore.

"Taking blood isn't supposed to be like this," Phoebe's soft voice murmured.

Dorothy Ann opened her eyes. Lying on the cage floor with her were Phoebe and Ralphie, both looking just as wrecked as she felt. But Ralphie wasn't even moving, and it was then that Dorothy Ann remembered he had been completely unconscious at one point. She crawled over to him.

"Ralphie?" she asked, hand on his chest and pushing as much as her weakened muscles allowed.

He moaned, eyelids fluttering.

"Ralphie, wake up, come on."

"I...I'm going to be sick."

Dorothy Ann smiled a little. At least he was awake. "You know what Keesha would say, don't you?"

As though in reply, Ralphie abruptly rolled away from Dorothy Ann, bracing himself on a quivering hand, and vomited all over the floor.

"Oh!" Phoebe exclaimed on Dorothy Ann's other side.

Rolling back, Ralphie finally opened his eyes and looked at Dorothy Ann. "Keesha's going to be so proud. Let's save it for her."

The door opened. Dorothy Ann slowly shifted to see Carlos and Tim stumbling into room, both struggling to keep their eyes open as they tripped over the cage entrance and crashed to the ground. Just behind them, a third man walked in with Wanda over his shoulder. Her wrists and ankles were zip-tied again, and when she was literally thrown on top of Carlos and Tim, Wanda twisted enough for Dorothy Ann to see that her mouth had been duct taped, too. All three groaned as the cage door locked.

"Wanda, what happened?" Phoebe asked, crawling over to help her.

"Yeoggyeoun," one of the men said, sounding disgusted. "Chiwola."

As Phoebe was ripping off Wanda's duct tape, two towels were tossed into the cage. Dorothy Ann scooted over to grab them, sure they were for Ralphie's vomit. She stopped to touch Carlos' shoulder, rubbing gently. "Are you okay?"

"That was _not_ a normal blood draw."

Dorothy Ann laughed once through her nose. They were all so weak, but they were alive and well enough to make stupid jokes.

"Why did they tie you up?" Phoebe asked Wanda, slowly undoing her wrists.

Tim answered. "Because she tried to fight them, bite them, run away."

"Oh, Wanda..." Phoebe sighed. "What were you hoping to accomplish?"

Wanda's voice was unashamed, albeit breathless. "I can't believe you all are just willing to let these guys do whatever they want to you."

"We don't even know where we are, though," Dorothy Ann replied, wiping up the vomit as best she could. "Getting yourself shot or something is just being stupid."

"You-"

But Wanda's hot retort was cut off as the door opened again and Keesha and Arnold were brought into the room. Carlos, Tim, Phoebe, and Wanda shuffled only just enough to allow Keesha and Arnold the space to fall on their legs, cushioning the impact a little. The cage door slammed, and the eight were alone again. Phoebe finally broke the binds on Wanda's wrists and exhaled deeply from the effort. Dorothy Ann, having collected as much as she could of the vomit into the two towels, shoved them as far into the bars as possible.

"Thanks," Ralphie whispered.

Dorothy Ann gave his shoulder a squeeze, then turned to look Wanda in the eye. "We just have to cooperate until we have a real opportunity," she said quietly. "While we're all weak and disoriented and have guns to our heads isn't the time to try and escape."

"Yeah, but how are we supposed to do anything now?" Ralphie asked. "We're too weak to even stand up."

"Our blood will replenish itself," Phoebe said. "We just need a little time to let that happen. Then...then we can figure something out."

Everyone nodded, even Wanda. And while Dorothy Ann felt it in her heart that she was right, that Phoebe was right...as she looked around at the pale faces of those that she loved most, caged in the bright fluorescence of who-knows-where...she really hoped that they had the time to recover.


	11. Chapter 6

_**Wednesday, May 14, 2003  
**_ _ **night**_

Tim's back hurt. His spine was curved uncomfortably as he leaned against the bars of their cage, Phoebe's head against his chest. Although the lights still blared around them like the surface of a star, Dorothy Ann's watch read 11:59, and they were all trying to rest while they could. Rest was hard enough with the bars and the concrete and the lights without the added stress of wondering what on earth was going to happen to them. Although they had agreed that the next time the cage door was opened they would swarm the guards and fight, Tim knew that he couldn't be the only one that didn't look forward to it when that time actually came. Much as everyone seemed to think they were special, it was unlikely that those guns wouldn't be used if they caused too much trouble.

Dorothy Ann's watch beeped three times fast. It was midnight.

"Why do these fuckers think we're so special?" Wanda said suddenly, sitting up from where she had been curled into a ball next to Arnold. "Why do they give a shit about Ms. Frizzle? No offense to her or anything, but really!"

The way everyone immediately began lifting their heads and pulling themselves into sitting positions, it was obvious that not a single one of them had been sleeping the entire time they had laid there in silence.

Carlos rubbed his face. "I don't know. I mean, Ms. Frizzle's class wasn't exactly normal if the high school is anything to go off of...maybe...maybe that matters?"

"Maybe the Magic School Bus was some sort of government project," Ralphie said, sarcastic.

Phoebe shrugged, her shoulder bumping Tim's. "You may not be wrong. That was the only thing that was really different, right? Surely Ms. Frizzle herself isn't why we've been taken. I mean, we were the only ones who knew what the bus was capable of."

"Not entirely," Tim said, thinking. "Janet and Mikey came on a couple field trips with us, right? Heck, even William saw us shrink that one time, and they're not here."

"Well, William was just a baby at the time," Keesha reasoned. "And Mikey and Janet only came with us a handful of times. Maybe they somehow don't fit into whatever equation is going on with us."

"Maybe...maybe that's what's weird. We are," Dorothy Ann said quietly. "Remember how those lab technicians that drew our blood were so fascinated by us, like we were some undiscovered creature for them to study?"

Tim nodded, seeing everyone else mimic the gesture. It was going to be hard to forget how eerily the women had beamed down at them, caressing the vials of drawn blood as though precious. One of them had even sniffed a used syringe.

"What do you think the injection is?" Ralphie asked then. Silence answered him, a better reply than Tim was sure any of them could have given.

Phoebe curled into Tim's side again, and he slipped his arm around her waist to pull her closer. This entire ordeal was bewildering, terrifying. He wondered how much longer any of them could go without their nerves frying completely.

The door opened. Every single one of them jerked violently, Wanda and Arnold even leapt to their feet. The same woman with the pin-covered blazer, importance buoying her every step, led the way into the room with the same eight men with handguns at her back. She stopped a few feet short of the bars.

"Congratulations," she said warmly.

Tim and the others stared back, varying degrees of wariness and anger on their faces. Tim's insides squirmed with unease.

"Your blood samples practically gave my scientists coronaries for how off-the-charts you all were. You're much further along than any of us anticipated. It's quite fortunate for us that your advancements were cancelled. Once deemed unsafe, your injections became incredibly easy to access." Her smile was lazily content, sending chills up and down Tim's spine. "Now, you and I will finally be able to see what you're actually capable of."

The men began to step forward, frontmost one pulling out the key that would unlock the cage door. Tim glanced at Phoebe, whose eyes were wide and body trembling. But her lips were pressed together, determined. The others looked just as tense, spines stiff and jaws locked as the door was opened and the man took a single step inside.

Tim wasn't able to make out the details of what all happened next. With a collective surge, all eight of them launched forward, tackling the man to his back. His gun went off, but Tim immediately noticed that it wasn't a bullet that shot to the ceiling but a single wire that crackled with electricity. A tazer. At least none of them were going to get killed with a single shot.

The others must have noticed, too, because as commotion exploded around the room, Tim noticed that his friends worked with more confidence. They took on as few men as they could all together, punching, kicking, grasping where they knew they could incapacitate the quickest. But only four men lay on the floor, guns discharged and lines stuck in the walls or ceiling, when Tim heard Carlos grunt stiffly beside him, turning to instant stone as he fell backwards like a tree. Tim was only just able to grab Carlos by the front of his shirt a second before he hit the ground, keeping him from cracking his head on the cement. His whole body twitched as his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

Suddenly, a true gunshot rang out. Everybody froze.

"That is enough," the woman said, still calm but icy. "Jungji, Ye-jun. Geuleul jug-iji mala."

Carlos liquified then, the sudden slump of deadweight dragging Tim down as they crashed to the floor. Barely avoiding breaking Carlos' nose with his forehead, Tim twisted to see what was happening.

The four remaining men were all standing, guns raised and aimed at Carlos, Wanda, Dorothy Ann, and Ralphie. Lines connected the barrels with the four fallen teens, all gasping for breath on the floor. Phoebe, Arnold, and Keesha were frozen in fight, warily eyeing the woman's gun, which she slowly let fall to her side.

"Impressed as I am," she said, "I must insist that this stop. These men are only doing their job. No one will be hurt as long as you comply. Please, walk with us down to the lab, and we can be finished with this place and move along."

Wanda laughed weakly from her position on the floor. "Yeah, _okay_ , we'll totally do that."

Tim looked up at Keesha, who stood nearest him. Arnold and Phoebe were sharing a look, and Keesha only returned the same sentiment when her eyes met his. With a steadying breath, Tim nodded, falling into a crouched position, partially poised over Carlos. He wrapped his hand around the wire connecting Carlos to the gun and pulled, hard. The anchor ripped from Carlos, eliciting a sharp gasp. Tim could hear the others doing the same, then he lunged forward again.

The man that had tazed Carlos was prepared for him. Not near as tall but twice as thick, the man grabbed around Tim's waist and made to lift him into the air, but Tim managed to wriggle enough so that he unbalanced them both. As Tim wrestled the man on the floor, he could see the woman calmly walking among the renewed chaos, seemingly unbothered. He didn't have time to wonder what she was doing, though. Knuckles collided with his head. Sliding his body feet-first, Tim put a little distance between him and the man, giving him the room to stand and aim a kick.

"No…!"

Dorothy Ann's voice was barely louder than the scuffles around the small room. Tim's foot was grabbed and twisted, knocking him to the ground. The new vantage point showed Tim his tazed friends pulled together, wrists and ankles bound again.

No.

Tim's own ankles were roughly pulled together then, and he thrashed with all he had. But the hard plastic was already tight. Hands slapped across his chest and arms as two men were suddenly standing over Tim, trying to access his hands. Though he was able to land two more punches and shimmy a few inches away, Tim ultimately had his hands roughly bound behind his back. One of the tazers whipped him across the face. Pain clouded him entirely for a moment, and when Tim blinked open his eyes a few seconds later, blood was dripping to the floor.

"This is really quite ridiculous," the woman's voice said, somewhere behind Tim. "Alaecheung-e gajyeo gala. Deo isang dachigehaji mala."

"Daleun salamdeul-eun eottae?"

"Byeongsadeul-i deo jung-yohada."

"Ne, bu-in."

Tim didn't move from where he lay on the floor, knowing it was useless to continue to resist now that they were all bound. Grabbed by his upper arm, Tim was literally dragged from the room by the man he had just been attacking. His hip slammed into each stair as they moved to the lower floor. Back in the lab where their blood had been drawn, Tim was thrown onto one of the chairs and quickly strapped down beside Wanda, whose face was red and murderous.

"You can't do this!" she screamed as the strap across Tim's chest tightened painfully. "You can't just fucking inject kids with random shit!"

"But it is not random," one of the women in lab coats said from out of sight. All Tim could really see was the ceiling and the shadows of the men carrying each of his friends into the room. They were being tired down with far more force than before, he noted. His skull felt compressed as the strap was pulled.

"Please, please, please don't do this," Phoebe whimpered.

"Why are you doing this?" Arnold choked.

"Naleul mulji mala!" one of the men suddenly cried out, and Tim heard a sharp slap. Keesha yelped.

"I'm not-" Ralphie's voice was cut off with a grunt and a moan, and Tim fought against his restraints to see what was happening to his friends. Their collective fear was palpable, the excitement of their captors evident among it. From the very edge of his vision, Tim saw one of the lab women lift a huge syringe, needle thicker than Tim had ever seen, to her face and flick it twice. The liquid within was hot pink. Then the woman stepped closer, passing Tim and leaning over Wanda.

"Wanda Li?" the woman asked kindly. "Date of birth 1986-07-26?"

"Fuck you," Wanda spat.

The woman didn't seem to mind the reply. Tim could barely see her shift, lining up the needle with Wanda's arm beside Tim. She stopped just short of pressing it into her skin, though.

"O, naneun gaegeuga pil-yohae," she said, turning to speak with someone out of sight. There was some movement, then Tim watched in horror as the other two women walked up and forced a gag into Wanda's mouth. It looked like the nose of a clown; a bright red ball that compressed as it was forced between a very unwilling Wanda's teeth. The women smiled, smoothing Wanda's hair. Then the woman inserted the needle. It had to hurt, being so large, but Wanda just grunted a little as she glared. But then the woman pressed on the backside of the syringe, injecting the hot pink liquid.

Wanda's scream made Keesha's pain from her dislocated shoulder sound like a giggle.

Shrieking with more animalistic instinct than human pain, Wanda screamed around the gag that only barely muffled her agony. Her body convulsed violently against the restraints, which held her firm to the table with terrifying efficiency. Although the woman removed the needle and backed away, Wanda's torment continued, echoing in the tiny room.

Breath shallow, blood drained, and horrified beyond any higher functioning thought, Tim tried not to faint from fear as the woman approached him next. The new syringe she held in her hands contained a bright yellow liquid. She had to lean close to Tim's face to make herself heard over Wanda's shrieking.

"Timothy Roger Johnson? Date of birth 1985-09-30?"

He tried to shake his head but couldn't against the strap. "N-no," he stammered.

"Please do not worry," she said, cupping his face briefly. "You are safe."

The gag that was suddenly stuffed in his mouth told Tim otherwise. It was rubbery and easy to bite, almost like a stress ball that took up most of his mouth. Instinct told him to spit it out, but hearing Wanda told Tim that maybe it would be safer to keep it. Tears began to fill his eyes as he shook within his skin. This couldn't be happening.

The needle broke through his skin, more painful than any needle should be. But something worse was coming. He shut his eyes just as the woman began to inject the yellow liquid.

Tim screamed.

* * *

 _ **Thursday, May 15, 2003  
**_ _ **pre-dawn**_

Wanda only knew pain. There was nothing else in existence but the pain of her very DNA tearing itself apart, destroying her at the molecular level with blunt edges and dull razors. The world no longer existed. There was only pain.

The void of nothingness released its sweet hold over Wanda, drifting her lazily back into the world that had reformed from the endlessness of her agony. Her body was existentially sore, painful but dull compared to the horrors of before. Still strapped to her chair but somehow swaying irregularly, Wanda wondered if that was her life now; a tale divided into two parts of before and after.

Fatigue like nothing she had ever known kept her still more than her binds. She opened her eyes, but the brown-bag ceiling wasn't familiar. The floor dropped unexpectedly beneath her, the chair and her body dropping with it. Something gently bumped into her on the left, and Wanda tried to turn and look. The straps didn't allow it. She wiggled her hand a little. Her skin brushed against someone else's, and she grabbed it, seeking comfort from the hot skin.

D.A. groaned a little, just loud enough over the hum that Wanda hadn't realized was there to be recognized. Wanda peered from the corner of her eye as much as her disorientation could manage. She caught a glimpse of her friend, lying beside her, strapped in her own chair. D.A. was unconscious, though, looking all but dead under her white skin and gray lips.

The world shuttered. Wanda closed her eyes then and let unconsciousness take her away from the brown-bag world where she and D.A. suffered.


	12. Chapter 7

_**date unknown, 2003  
**_ _ **time of day unknown**_

The room was as if it had been taken directly from Hollywood's classic insane asylum set. Walls, floor, and ceiling alike were all cushioned like a firm mattress, no windows and the door sealed with the same material found on the expensive plastic ware that Maria loved so much. All Carlos needed to complete the scene was a straight jacket.

But he wasn't in a straight jacket. Still in his sneakers, jeans, and tee shirt that he had worn to school, Carlos was actually quite free in the room. Not that being free afforded him much. Maybe ten feet by ten feet, the mattress room was tiny, and Carlos had to share it with the seven-feet-long gurney he had woken up on some time previous.

Aside from feeling the sticky stiffness of having been drenched in sweat and then left to dry, Carlos had been surprised to find that he felt almost fine when he came to in the strange room. Disoriented, arm aching at the injection site and with a large bruise to accompany it, he mostly felt thirsty in the time he had been awake. It was encouraging despite everything.

What was not encouraging was the door. After fiddling with the thing for what felt like a solid hour, Carlos was currently standing with his head resting against it in frustration. There wasn't a way to budge the thing. He didn't like to give up, but he had tried literally everything possible with what he had. There was nothing more he could do, nothing more to occupy his attention. Nothing more to keep the awful memories of the lab from seeping into his brain.

Pure terror had been everywhere, despair rolling off the ones he loved most in waves as they had been forced into that god-awful room. The horror of listening to Wanda, then Tim, then Phoebe, then Ralphie being injected before him had easily been the worst moments of Carlos' life. The demonic shrieks of pain that shouldn't have belonged to his friends had been bad enough torture. Being subjected to the same had only been the cherry on top. The pain that had latched onto Carlos' soul still ached somewhere within him, still resonated alongside the screams of his friends that he was sure he'd never stop hearing.

Except…

Carlos opened his eyes then, staring at the door two inches away. There was a new sound that had emerged from the silence. Maybe it was a hallucination born from the lack of stimulation. But it was a distraction, and it was welcome.

Carlos focused on the sound, surprised at how much louder it became the moment he did so. Although not certain how, he knew it was the rolling of cheap plastic wheels on gritty tile, coming from...Carlos frowned. There was no way he should, but...he knew that the cart was to his left, about fifty feet down a hallway that he instinctively felt ended just outside his doorway. No sound extended to his right.

There were also voices. Just as soft as the wheels but there, and remarkably clear.

"Jogeumdo! Geu bang-e silje guleum-i iss-eossda! Haneul-eseo naneun jinjja daegi guleum!" The voice was familiar, one of the men who had been the gun muscle. In contrast to the curt two-word commands uttered before, now his voice was punctuated with an emotion caught somewhere between awe and fear.

Carlos heard a door shut, and the wheels shifted a few feet closer, moving across the hall. There was the distinct clink of a key ring before another door opened. Now there was...suctioning? And not quite concealed beneath the noisy air, a faint crying came. It was terrified and…

Carlos' eyes grew wide as he lost all focus on the noises beyond his door. That had been Dorothy Ann, he was sure of it. Approximately fifty feet away from him and being confronted by the thugs that had done this to them with an ominous cart, Dorothy Ann was crying. He didn't know his blood could boil and ice at the same time. Taking a sharp breath, Carlos closed his eyes and listened. Wheels on grit sounded for a brief moment, and Carlos caught onto it quickly, expanding the sounds as best he could.

Dimly, he was aware that what he was doing wasn't normal. But his desperation to hear Dorothy Ann again overrode the concern, and within a few seconds, he heard her voice.

"I don't want any," she was whimpering. "I want to see my friends, I want out, _please_ -"

"Jenjang," one of the men groaned. "Take," he ordered.

A soft thud somewhere in the distance between Dorothy Ann's voice and the man's told Carlos that something had been thrown. The door slammed shut and the suctioning sound along with Dorothy Ann's fear was closed off from Carlos.

"Geunyeoneun geunyeoga jeonhyeo meog-ileul meogji anhneun geos-e daehae gamsahaeyahbnida." A second man said, annoyed. Carlos could practically hear the eye-roll.

The cart rolled closer and another door opened. Both men shouted out in disgust. Wanda moaned weakly, the sound delicate. Something was tossed at her just before the door closed, followed by the grumbling of the two men in the foreign language as they drew the cart back across the hall to another door.

"D-don't come...come any c-closer," Arnold's voice was unsteady, as if he had been sprinting past his limits.

"Neowa museun sang-gwan-iya?"

"I-I mean it!"

But even Carlos could tell that something was up with Arnold, something probably making him pretty useless against two likely-armed guards with no qualms about hurting minors. Carlos swallowed dryly, forcing himself to keep listening as the men shut the door on Arnold and moved closer down the hall.

Phoebe was not at all what Carlos anticipated.

"Let me out!" she demanded, half-screaming the moment Carlos heard the door swing open.

"Jenjang!" The startled exclamation made Carlos grin. Whatever Phoebe was doing, however out of character, was awesome.

"You can't keep me locked up in here forever! I'm-"

"O, dagchyeo!" the man shouted back. "Take and hush."

"You think this-"

But the door shut on Phoebe and her unexpected rage.

Another door opened shortly after, and though Carlos strained his ears to hear signs of Tim, Ralphie, or Keesha, the next room seemed to either be empty or the occupant wasn't awake yet. Both possibilities were troubling.

"Joh-a, Madam-eun-i majimag du aideul-i gajang wiheomhaji anh-ayahandago malhaessda," one of the men said, voice louder than ever as he, his partner, and the cart with the cheap plastic wheels came to a stop just outside Carlos' door. "Neoneun geu mun-eul gajigo naegai mun-eul jab-eulgeoya." Footsteps drew closer.

Carlos opened his eyes. Dorothy Ann's fear was all that he could think about as the door he'd battled against for over an hour finally shifted and gave way, coming off his forehead. Lashing out immediately, Carlos was able to turn all the defensive moves he had perfected over the years into offensive with incredible ease. He surprised the man and was able to land two solid punches to his wide stomach before being forced to deal with a reaction. The man's arms raised.

But Carlos was smaller, faster, and far more agile. Only taking the clipped end of a chop, he was able to crawl up the man's back, latching his legs around the man's upper arms and chest in the span of a few seconds. Careful to slot the man's windpipe in the crook of his elbow rather than barring it against his forearm, Carlos began to squeeze as tight as he could.

Hopefully he could put the guy to sleep before his partner made it over to them.

The man wriggled frantically beneath him, arms trying with all their might to break free from Carlos' legs. He slammed back-first into a nearby wall, knocking the air out of Carlos, but it only made him squeeze tighter. A moment later, the man stumbled to his knees, hands frantically scrabbling at awkward angles to release the pressure that was depriving him of oxygen. Soon he was collapsing, twisting, and Carlos saw a doorway open across the hall, the man's partner unconscious on the floor.

Tim crouched beside him.

"You've almost got him asleep," he said to Carlos, withdrawing a key ring from the fallen man's belt and standing.

"What'd you do to get that guy out so fast?" Carlos asked.

"Palm strike."

"Ah. I didn't trust myself not to accidentally kill him."

Tim's face shadowed. "He's not dead, but if you saw what the others were going through, I don't think you'd give a damn, either."

Carlos blinked. "What? You've seen the others? How-"

"That injection did something weird. Can you...do something...new?"

Still wrapped around the guard, who struggled minutely in his grip, Carlos studied Tim. It _had_ been weird how much he had been able to hear through a padded and sealed door that ended up being close to a foot thick. It hadn't been normal that he could pinpoint exactly what and where different noises were.

"I was able to...hear really well. I could hear them with that cart all the way down the hall and tracked their movements from there. I heard everyone in a different room. I could...tell where everything was, just by the sounds."

Tim nodded. "I can see. Like...through the others' eyes. I accidentally saw through Phoebe's, then found out I could do it with the rest of the gang. No one else, though. I tried my mom and dad, even that lady who did all this. Nothing. Oh, that guy's passed out."

Carlos unlatched immediately. "Thanks." He scrambled to his feet and hurried over to Tim.

"You, me, Phoebe, and Keesha are doing alright," Tim said as he turned toward the nearest closed door down the hall. "But the others looked worse off."

"What do you mean?" Carlos' stomach twisted as he remembered Dorothy Ann's tears, Wanda's weakness, Arnold's breathlessness.

Tim lifted the key chain up to the door as they approached it. There were only two keys. His eyes met Carlos', and all the confusion, anxiety, and downright misery that Carlos felt was reflected there. "You'll see." And he opened the door.

At first, Carlos wasn't really sure what he was seeing. The room was identical to his own, but in the back left corner, opposite an empty gurney, was a gray...bubble. With Keesha in it.

"Tim? Carlos?" Her voice sounded more distant than their actual proximity, slightly muffled. She had been curled up on the floor but quickly stood at the sight of Carlos and Tim. "How'd you get out?"

"The guards split up to open our rooms," Tim said as they approached the bubble. "We knocked them out...what...uh…"

"What the heck is this thing, Keesha?" Carlos asked. He was just inches from the gray barrier. It was quite clear despite the distinct color, and when he poked the surface with his finger it afforded him a small indention. Then it rather forcefully pushed back, becoming smooth once more.

Before Keesha could speak, the bubble abruptly vanished. Without a sound, an impression, or any other sign it had once been there, the clear gray matter disappeared entirely. Keesha's eyes grew wide with obvious relief. Without hesitating, she threw herself into Carlos and Tim, wrapping her arms around them both in a fierce hug. Carlos patted her back before repeating his question.

"What was that thing?"

Keesha shook her head as she pulled back. "I don't know. It only appeared when the guards came in. It just...showed up. They tried to pop it, but nothing happened. I don't...I don't even know why it went away just now. After the guards left, I tried to pop it myself and nothing happened." She shivered. "I thought I was trapped."

Carlos bit his lip, not sure what to make of it. Tim was already turning away, waving his hand for them to follow. "Let's get the others."

"I think Phoebe is across the hall," Carlos said, following.

Keesha frowned. "How do you know that?"

"Well, while you can make fancy bubbles by accident, I am now the ultimate Dumbo."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I-"

"Tim!" Phoebe's cry cut Carlos off. The door was open and the keys were still in the lock, abandoned when Tim rushed into the room to take Phoebe into his arms. "What's happening? How'd you guys get out?"

Carlos grabbed the key chain, fingering it anxiously.

"Now's not really the time," Tim said, but his voice had lost a lot of its edge. "I can see what you and the other's see if I want, Carlos has superhearing, and Keesha can make bubbles, but the guards are knocked out and we've got the keys, but I'm not sure how long we have until someone realizes what's going on."

Phoebe blinked, eyes blank. "What?"

"I think that injection did something to us," Tim said, taking her by the hand and leading her over to where Carlos and Keesha had retreated to the hall. "Maybe a sense enhancement or something, I'm not sure."

"What sense would making bubbles work with?" Keesha asked. The group moved to the door just down from Phoebe's.

"That and I...there's nothing weird I can do," Phoebe said.

"Maybe the injection didn't work on everyone?" Carlos suggested as he unlocked the door that he was sure would open up to Arnold. "Maybe you lucked out."

"Maybe...oh my goodness...what's this?"

Phoebe's wonder wasn't unfounded. The door opened to yet another padded room, but this one was damp, warm, and somehow in _motion_ , like a heater was running on full blast. Lying on the gurney against the back wall was Arnold, just as Carlos had predicted. But he was drenched in sweat as though swimming in his own perspiration and breathing raggedly.

Phoebe was the first to move, gently pushing past Carlos and hurrying over to Arnold's side.

Arnold's body shook minutely, something Carlos only noticed as he drew closer with Keesha and Tim at his side. Hands already feeling Arnold's head and chest, Phoebe gasped, "He's burning up! His heart rate is too fast, his blood pressure is too high!"

"How...how are you...you all here?" Arnold panted, wide eyes taking them all in like a caged animal.

Phoebe's hands cupped his face. "What happened to you?"

"I...I don't know...I just…" Arnold took an unsteady deep breath. "When I woke up I...I was so cold. And...and the more I wanted to...to warm up...the more I...I actually warmed up. Then it just kept...getting hotter and...and hotter...and now I think I'm going to have a stroke and-"

"You have to calm down," Phoebe said soothingly. "Just relax, we're here with you now." Her hands moved some of the soaked hair back off Arnold's forehead, then she placed one palm directly over his heart. Her fingers mused in the wet fabric of his shirt for a moment before falling still along with the rest of her body. Then Phoebe began to hum, so quietly Carlos was half-convinced that only he could hear her.

"What are you doing?" he asked after a moment.

Keesha crouched beside her. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Shh," Tim hushed suddenly. His eyes were narrowed, brows furrowed as he stared at Phoebe's hand on Arnold's chest. "Look at her hands."

They did. Carlos couldn't see what the big deal was at first, aside from never having seen someone so sweaty that the entire room was damp. But then, after staring for several seconds, he saw it. Phoebe's hands, fair and smooth as always, were actually emitting the softest hue of blue from the tips of her fingers. The light seemed to be connecting to Arnold, seeping through his shirt and into the skin beneath. Already, his breathing seemed to be coming under control. His shaking faded. Even the room felt as though the imaginary heater was finally shut off.

Then Arnold gasped.

Loud as though a corpse had come to life, Arnold's body jolted without warning as he took in as much air as he could muster, startling everyone back several feet. Phoebe groaned and slumped forward slightly, but just as soon as Tim hurried forward to her, she was hastily scooting backwards away from the gurney. Arnold sat up, eyes looking tired but clear.

"I, uh...thank you?" he said uncertainly.

Carlos shared a wide-eyed look with Keesha, then stepped over Tim and Phoebe to help Arnold to his feet. He leaned heavily on Carlos.

"I…" Phoebe's eyes were impossibly wide, but her voice was far from fearful. "I just...I just _healed_ you, Arnold. I...I could _feel_ what was wrong. I felt it and I _fixed_ it just by touching you."

Arnold swallowed dryly. "Well, I for one certainly appreciate it."

Tim laughed nervously as he carefully guided Phoebe back to a standing position, arm tight around her waist. "Like I said, we're all doing weird things."

"So what am I supposed to be able to do?" Arnold asked as they returned to the hall. "Give people strokes?"

Still holding tight to Arnold to steady him, Carlos tried to shrug. Who knew? His own new ability, Tim's, and Phoebe's at least made sense. What was Keesha supposed to gain by making bubbles she couldn't control, or Arnold from overheating himself? "Maybe you just need to think cool thoughts until we can figure that out," he said.

They came to the door across the hall. Wanda's room, if Carlos' hearing was as accurate as it had so far proved to be. Anxiety made his stomach churn. He wasn't sure he was ready to see what had caused Wanda to sound so pitiful. Keesha, unburdened by a weakened friend, reached her hand out to Carlos for the keys. He gave them up gladly.

When the door swung open, Carlos was almost literally knocked over with what had the guards exclaiming in disgust earlier.

Acidic vomit, pungent and overwhelming, smacked them all in the face. Phoebe and Arnold both openly gagged, and Carlos wasn't so sure he wouldn't throw up himself in the next few moments. But Keesha, ever determined, pulled her shirt up over her mouth and nose and stepped directly into the war zone.

Vomit covered every available space of the room. The floors, the walls, the fucking ceiling, all plastered as though someone had repeatedly reloaded a Super Soaker with vomit and doused the entire room with disturbing accuracy. Horrified at the entire scene, it took Carlos a moment to even notice Wanda. Lying on the floor next to her upended gurney, which had a bent leg, Wanda was lying unconscious beneath what would have been sheet-white skin had it not been for the tinge of gray.

"Wanda?"

Arnold pushed off of Carlos and stumbled into the room. Keesha helped steady him as they both moved in further, dropping to their knees beside Wanda's lifeless form. Both began feeling Wanda's face and wrists, likely seeking a pulse. Carlos held his breath, chest constricting.

"Phoebe!" Keesha called. "Phoebe, can you help her?"

Sensing the hesitation in Tim's stiffened spine, Carlos kept his mouth shut as Phoebe pushed away from him and stepped into the room. Instead, Carlos checked the hallway. No signs of visitors, either by sight or his unrefined super hearing.

"I'm...I'm hallucinating," Wanda's voice was brittle.

"No, you're not," Arnold whispered. "We're really here." He pulled her head into his lap as he bravely dropped into a seated position on the soiled floor. "Phoebe, you can help her, right?"

"I hope so…" Phoebe's hands touched Wanda's face, and she gasped. "Oh my...it's like...it's like she's been on the world's worst roller coaster. She's disoriented, not to mention malnourished and dehydrated from all the vomiting…"

Wanda laughed, more a wheeze than anything. "You hallucinations...have...no idea."

"Can you help her?" Keesha asked.

"I...I don't know," Phoebe fretted. "I mean, she needs nutrients replaced."

"Phoebe, you also just stopped Arnold from having a stroke," Carlos called. He almost gagged, having breathed too much of the room's smell in as he spoke. Tim shot him a frown.

But Phoebe was nodding, moving closer to put her hands on Wanda's forehead and stomach as Arnold held her in his lap. As Phoebe grew still, Carlos heard the same faint hum from when she had healed Arnold, and Tim's fascinated look was certainly from seeing more blue light coming from her fingertips. The moments trickled by as Phoebe, Wanda, and Arnold seemed to freeze in time, Keesha nervously biting her cheek at their side and Carlos and Tim shifting their weight from foot to foot in the hallway.

Then, just as Arnold had, Wanda gasped, jerking to life. Instead of lying still and gathering herself as Arnold had, though, Wanda immediately shoved Phoebe back with both hands and tried to roll away from Arnold. She only managed to smack her head on the toppled over gurney.

"Ow!" she muttered, then turned and seemed to realize who was around her. Carlos waved helpfully. "What the fuck is going on?"

Keesha let out a breathy laugh. "That's what we'd all like to know."

"Are you feeling better?" Arnold asked, reaching to help Wanda up as Phoebe let Keesha pull her to her feet.

Letting Arnold wrap his arm around her, Wanda nodded. "Yeah. Not great, but better."

"Awesome," Carlos said. "Now let's close this door and get Dorothy Ann and Ralphie."

No one protested. Even Phoebe, who usually would have been politely indignant at the rushing of injured persons, hurried out of the room and sighed with relief once the door latched shut.

"How're we getting out?" Wanda asked tiredly. "What's happened with all you guys?"

Arnold shook his head. "I don't think anyone's really sure...but something weird is up with us all."

"Tell me about it. That's why I'm bathed in yesterday's menu."

"What do you mean?"

Wanda frowned then, looking as close to scared as Carlos had ever seen her. "I...I was able to shift the gravity in that room."

No one really knew what to say to that.

Practically joined as a chain to help one another, the group shifted back across the hall to where Carlos knew Dorothy Ann was kept. It felt as though Keesha took forever to slip the key into the lock and swing the door open.

The room was drastically different than all the others had been.

Still padded but enormous, Carlos wasn't entirely sure that Dorothy Ann was even in the room at first glance. But at the far end of what was surely the distance of a football field, Carlos spotted a tiny speck of a person, crouched as though desperate not to be seen.

"Don't come any closer!" the speck shouted. It was likely quieted by the vast distance, but Carlos could hear the voice as though it was by his side. It was Dorothy Ann. "Go away!"

"Dorothy Ann, it's us!" Carlos called. He wasn't shouting as loud as he needed to project across such a spanse, but with a strange intuition, he threw the words as though physical objects. He knew they'd reach Dorothy Ann just as easily as he had been able to hear her.

"...Carlos?" She was whispering, shocked, but Carlos heard her. He smiled.

"Come on, we're getting out of here!"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, without warning, the walls began to shrink, zipping in on themselves as quickly as a retractable tape measure. The backmost wall where Dorothy Ann stood zoomed toward them, and everyone but Carlos frantically scurried back into the hallway as it fast approached. When the room abruptly halted at the ten-feet by ten-feet dimensions, Dorothy Ann was there, crashing into him as though the force of the room's halt had thrown her. Carlos caught her and they both stumbled through the open doorway.

Dorothy Ann was pale but alive and breathing in Carlos' arms. He pulled back slightly to look her in the face.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, just...just tired."

Carlos couldn't quite tear his eyes away from her. "Phoebe? Could-"

"She's done enough, man," Tim said. At least he had the decency to sound apologetic. "I think when she heals someone, it takes that energy out of her. She's dead on her feet."

"Tim, I can help if D.A. needs it."

"I'm really okay," Dorothy Ann said as she looked around at the group. "I don't know how Phoebe could help, but I'm fine, just...tired and freaked out a bit. Where's Ralphie?"

Keesha threw a thumb over her shoulder at the final door in the hallway. "My guess is right there." She lifted the key ring and jangled it once. "Shall we?"

Everyone nodded, and although Carlos considered arguing for Phoebe to help Dorothy Ann feel a little more like herself, the thought dispersed when he felt a warm hand on his forearm. Dorothy Ann was giving him that little knowing smile she had, eyes sporting thin bags.

"I'm really okay," she said. "Besides, what's Phoebe supposed to do?"

"She can heal people."

Dorothy Ann looked bewildered. "What? That's crazy! She can't-"

But whatever Phoebe couldn't do according to Dorothy Ann was lost as Keesha unlocked the final door. As the door opened, Ralphie fell back-first into the hallway, apparently having been pressed hard against it. He was dripping wet and looked terrified as he hastily backed away from the room as quickly as he could without looking around him.

"Whoa, Ralphie, what's up?" Wanda asked.

Carlos wasn't too sure what he was really seeing inside what had been Ralphie's prison. The place looked dark and wet and…

"Are those _clouds_?" Dorothy Ann asked.

"Oh thank god it's you guys!" Ralphie finally noticed them. His face split into an huge smile despite being soaked to the bone and a little blue in the lips, and in an instant, he was on his feet and pulling as many of them as he could into bear hugs. "Thank god it's you guys! You wouldn't believe what's going on in there!"

"Try us," Arnold scoffed.

"No, really, dude. That freaking room had a full-blown rainstorm going on in there! I've been getting rained on for, like, an hour!" Ralphie laughed, relieved. "What kind of messed up torture is that, huh?"

"Are you sure it was the room doing it and not you?" Keesha asked.

Ralphie's grin faded slightly. "What are you talking about? I'm not _actually_ Weather Man, Keesh. Those assholes just have weird ideas of messing with kids is all."

"Well…" Keesha glanced around the group. They were all bedraggled, confused, and in varying states of exhaustion. "Actually…"

And for a few minutes, everyone briefly shared what they could do. Carlos could hear really well, apparently even throw his voice; Tim could see through the eyes of the rest of the group, as well as see in general with better clarity; Keesha was able to construct bubbles that could potentially be safe havens of sorts, although she wasn't sure how to conjure or deconstruct them; Phoebe could heal at the cost of her own well-being; Arnold seemed to be able to heat up his body, but the applications were questionable; Wanda could alter the direction of the gravitational pull of a room; Dorothy Ann was able to stretch and shrink her room; and Ralphie seemed to be able to summon rain clouds, although he was still in a fair amount of denial that the rain cloud's formation was at his request.

If those were supposed to be superpowers, Carlos thought, they were certainly strange ones that most of them couldn't really control. For a long moment after their discussion, they all simply stared at one another.

"Well, what now?" Wanda finally asked.

Carlos looked at Dorothy Ann. "What time is it?"

The only one of them who still wore a wrist watch, Dorothy Ann checked it. "It's 10:02pm. We...we lost almost an entire day."

"That's right," came a calm, flawless English voice. "But that is nothing compared to what those that came before you had lost."

Everyone whipped around to where the hallway proceeded past Ralphie's open door. Standing at the head of a dozen armed persons in riot-gear was the woman from before, medals shining brightly in the mediocre light of the tiled hallway.


End file.
